A problem from hell
by beamirang
Summary: Tarsus IV was a long time ago - a different life ago actually, if Jim's going to be a smartass about it. There are just some things you never forget, and some people you never forgive. Post STID.
1. Chapter 1

New story time! I will once again be using and abusing TOS and other Trek characters and tropes for my own nefarious purposes. Since we are officially in an alternate universe and we've already screwed around with, well, everything really, I'm totally jumping on the bandwagon. For example, Joanna McCoy should be eleven in 2259 – I'm making her seven. I have reasons, promise. You (hopefully) forgave me for Hoshi Sato so I'm hoping you'll do so again! Speaking of Hoshi, all those unanswered questions left over from _Transitions_ are going to get wrapped up here. As such, I am taking the standard Tarsus warnings and turning them up a bit: there are parts of this story that will be decidedly unpleasant for just about everyone involved. Especially Jim. Poor boy should probably consider early retirement. I try my best to warn for things, but I'm more than happy to provide more details if you'd like them, just drop me a message.

Timeline wise, we are kicking off after Jim's bust up with death and the whole story will take part in the months before their five-year mission.

Oh, and you know the last story where you had no cliffhangers at all because you all knew what was going to happen? Hahaha. Yeah, no more of that!

* * *

A PROBLEM FROM HELL

Jim opened one eye just enough to squint out into the brightness of the room. A muffled giggle emerged from down by his left elbow and he quickly closed his eyes again, smothering a grin against his pillow and pretending to be asleep.

"Uncle Jim," Joanna McCoy had her father's rich accent and the devastatingly effective whine of a seven year old – Jim had no hope. "I know you're awake."

"Am not." Jim said, eyes still closed. "Totally sleeping."

The sheets tugged against his chest as she crawled up the bed to sit by his side, trying not to bump him with the exaggerated carefulness of someone who'd been scolded one too many times for doing exactly that. "So I'll just eat your pudding then."

Jim opened one eye thoughtfully. "Chocolate?"

"Caramel."

"Ha!" Jim pounced, wrapping one arm around Joanna's waist and targeting ticklish spots ruthlessly. "Steal my pudding will you!"

Her shrieks of glee sounded completely out of place in the sterile hospital room Jim was confined to, but they were welcome nonetheless. Since waking a week ago he'd been cried on, yelled at, lectured and threatened by most of his crew, half of Starfleet Command and a few dozen nurses. Joanna had only arrived a few days ago, but she'd stubbornly refused to leave him alone during visiting hours and had given the one Commodore who had tried to make her leave the type of stern dressing down that made her daddy misty eyed with pride.

Jim was grateful. He probably wasn't the best company since he spent most of his time sleeping, but while he had a constant stream of visitors the loneliness of being confined to the same bed was far easier to deal with when he had someone to pretend for.

Bones sure as hell wasn't falling for it, and neither were the rest of Jim's crew.

Joanna's giggles died off as he tired out quickly. There had been a marked improvement in his stamina; he no longer fell asleep mid sentence, but he still needed a four-hour nap every time he wanted to get up to go to the bathroom.

Convalescing sucked, he thought miserably as he slumped back against the pillows. Joanna recognized his weariness and shoved the pudding cup into his hand. "I'll tell daddy you aren't eating." She threatened.

"You're a horrible child and I have no idea why I put up with you." Jim groused, his fingers fumbling for the spoon he'd been issued.

"Because you are secretly all squishy inside. Like a marshmallow." Joanna shrugged her shoulders, dark braids tumbling over the yellow sweater she wore. Uhura had been by earlier and Joanna had employed her mad hair braiding skills while Jim dozed. He was slightly afraid he'd wake up with a manicure, but Uhura assured him that if they were to work their magic on him they'd be starting with his eyebrows.

He'd let Galia wax his legs once – long, very boring story that he was never going to repeat no matter how drunk Bones got him– and would sooner let a Klingon punch him repeatedly in the face than go through the process again, especially in relation to his face.

"Squishy, huh?" Jim mused tiredly, rapidly losing the ability to stay awake. He managed a spoonful of pudding under Joanna's hopeful gaze. "I feel all squishy."

Small fingers carefully took the spoon from his hand before he dropped it in his lap. He heard Joanna set them down on the table at the end of the bed but nothing more.

* * *

Jim woke with Joanna curled up against him and the quite sound of two people arguing close by.

"I'm not having this conversation here, Joce." Jim frowned at the sound of Bones' voice in the small office that adjoined Jim's private room. He felt Joanna tense beside him and wrapped his arm around her shoulders so he could stroke her hair soothingly. She didn't look frightened, just miserable, but Jim felt his own tension rocket at the sight of her distress.

"Then when, Leo?" Jim had never heard anyone call Bones that before he'd met Jocelyn. It had taken him a moment to figure out who she was talking to, but then he often forgot his friend's name wasn't actually Bones McCoy. "You never leave. How am I supposed to talk to you?"

"I don't know why you actually care." Bones said, his voice hushed but his anger obvious. "It's not like you're going to listen to my opinion anyway."

"Why should It's not like you're ever around." Jim cringed. He knew how much it pained Bones to not spend every second with Joanna and if he was honest, he was torn about his thoughts on the matter. He firmly believed that no child should grow up without a father, but he also recognized that he couldn't project his own issues onto the way Bones lived his life. He could only imagine how his friend must feel about it himself. Bones said something that Jim couldn't hear but it must have had the right effect. Jocelyn's tone softened. "I know that Leo, Joanna does too, but I can't understand why you're so against her going to school."

"I'm all for her going to school, Joce." Bones growled. "I just don't see why it has to be on the other side of the galaxy."

"Because it's the best there is and Joanna deserves that. She's so bright, Leo, just like you."

Jim tuned out the rest of the conversation and looked down at Joanna. "So, school huh?"

She nodded. "It's in space."

"That's cool."

"Daddy doesn't want me to go." Joanna said softly.

Jim gave her an encouraging squeeze. "Your daddy wants you to be happy. Your mom too. I couldn't care less of course." Joanna giggled and poked him in the belly. "Okay, maybe a little bit." He admitted under torture. "Do you want to go?"

"I dunno." She said, becoming quiet again. "Maybe?" Jim raised an eyebrow. "Okay yes."

He smiled at her. "Okay then, so you go. And if you change your mind, you call me and I'll come get you."

"In your spaceship?"

"In my spaceship." Jim winked. He smiled over her shoulder as Bones and Jocelyn entered the room. Joanna looked exactly like her father. Jocelyn was beautiful, but it was a cool, untouchable beauty that was at complete odds with the warmth Bones kept hidden. "Don't tell your dad."

"Don't tell me what?" Bones growled from the doorway. Joanna smothered her giggles against Jim's arm.

"Busted." Jim laughed. "Go on, it's getting late." He nudged her encouragingly and she climbed down off the bed.

Bones took the chance to hug her tightly before she took her mom's hand.

"Say good night, Joanna." Jocelyn encouraged her daughter. Joanna pulled her hand free from her mother's and ran back to Jim's bed.

"Night Uncle Jim." She said, kissing Jim on the cheek. "Night daddy!"

"Night kiddo." Jim smiled. "Get home safe." He said that more to Jocelyn than Joanna and the woman nodded at him cordially before leaving with her daughter in tow.

"Why the hell did I marry her again?" Bones asked, slumping down into the chair besides Jim's bed.

"Awesome sex?" Jim speculated. Bones rolled his eyes on cue.

"Deviant."

Jim waggled his eyebrows teasingly. It was just about the only movement he could manage without exhausting himself. "As charged. You wanna talk about it?"

Bones slowly raised his head. He really did look exhausted, Jim thought guiltily. "You heard us?"

"Yeah."

"Jo too?" McCoy asked miserably.

"Kid's not deaf, Bones."

"Christ Jim, didn't anyone ever tell you it isn't polite to eavesdrop?" Bones rubbed his face with the back of his hand and leaned back in the chair.

Jim shook his head. "Nope." Quite the opposite in fact. "Besides, it's not like I ever listened in on my parents fighting. My mom blackmailing some Admirals, sure, and that came in useful."

"I've said it before kid: your mom was a few knights short of a crusade." Bones shook his head.

Jim snorted. Bones had no idea. It made him question all the things he'd been told about his dad because how someone as upstanding and kind as George Kirk supposedly was ended up with a woman who stunned her kids with phasers so they knew what it felt like was anyone's guess. "No arguments there. So, we talking about it?"

"What's to talk about? She wants Jo to go to school offworld."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes, and?"

"And what? Why the hell would I be okay with my daughter, my _seven_ year old daughter by the way, being shipped off to the far end of the galaxy?" Bones exclaimed, his eyebrows fully rose as if half expected Jim to be delirious again.

Jim rolled his eyes. Bones did overprotective daddy like no one Jim had ever met. God help the poor soul who tried to take Joanna out on her first date. "Where exactly is this school?"

"Cerberus." Bones huffed.

Jim laughed. "That's hardly the far end of the Galaxy, Bones! It's a two hour trip."

"On a starship, sure." Bones said grudgingly.

"Which we have, by the way." Jim wondered if Bones purposely ignored everything related to space until it was actively trying to devour, kill or maim him in some way.

McCoy scowled at him. "A broken starship."

"She's being fixed." Jim said defensively, his shoulders tensing at the thought of the _Enterprise_. Bones shot him an apologetic glance and sighed deeply.

"Yeah, I'm sorry kid." He said. "It's just…she's my daughter, Jim. I see little enough of her as it is." He sounded so sad that Jim ached for him.

"Hey," he said, grabbing Bones' arm and squeezing. "We can visit Cerberus as easily as we can Earth. Besides, she'll be having way too much fun to miss her grumpy old man."

"Thanks." Bones said dryly. "You can tell me I'm being paranoid you know. Don't sugar coat it. And it's a good school by all accounts."

Jim shrugged against the pillows. "I dunno man, I'm not exactly qualified to talk about paranoia. But yeah, you kinda are. She'll have a great time and all the other kids will love her when they find out her awesome Uncle Jim is a starship captain." He smirked, knowing exactly how Bones would react.

"Glad to see your ego's still in tact." Bones snorted. "And I'll have you know she wants to be a doctor like her 'grumpy old man', not a space cowboy like crazy Uncle Jim. How'd you like that, hotshot?"

"Not letting her enlist when she's older?" Jim grinned.

Bones looked horrified. "God, no."

Jim's smile turned into a yawn and his jaw clicked. On cue, Bones began to fuss with Jim's bedding, pulling it up higher until Jim was covered from the chin down. "So when's she going?"

"End of the week." McCoy said, inputting instructions for Jim's overnight medication into the computer by the bed.

"Gonna miss the little munchkin. Think I'll be up to seeing her off?"

"I'll talk to your doctor." McCoy said gruffly. "If you actually go to sleep."

"M'sleep." Jim slurred absently. He was out before the lights went down.

* * *

Jim was up to seeing Joanna off, but 'up' was a relative term. He was allowed out of the hospital for exactly three hours, each second of which he was to be accompanied by Bones and M'Benga, who was there in case Bones was 'distracted' by something. Jim had zoned out soon after he'd heard the words 'release'. Dressing in civilian clothing had required McCoy's help and by the time he slumped down in the hoverchair he'd been too exhausted to be embarrassed.

The thought of actually staying awake for three whole hours seemed utterly ludicrous. He'd be out before they even reached the docks.

He and Bones weren't the only ones who showed up, either. Joanna was already waiting with Jocelyn, dressed in her new school uniform and rubbing her cheeks nervously. Her hair hung in two dark braids that were tied with blue ribbons and her dark eyes were all Bones'. Uhura and Spock had also arrived to wish her luck. Jim had missed most of the bonding that had occurred between the three of them but there was no way he'd ever get over his tall, serious First Officer bending down so he was eye level with the little girl. Nor could Uhura, it seemed. They'd have cute kids, Jim thought. Really scary, really logical kids, but they'd be seriously cute.

After saying her goodbyes to them, Joanna made a beeline for Jim. She climbed onto his knee to hug him better and squeezed tightly. Jim had only just been reassuring Bones – again – that they could go and visit her any time and off world schooling was no longer a big deal and while _hey, at least this one isn't run by a genocidal maniac _might not have been his best argument, he had at least been able to calm Bones down. He just failed to understand why his throat felt tight and his eyes stung when she untangled herself and climbed off his knee.

"I gave Mr Spock our special cookie recipe." Joanna said seriously. "I think he might burn them though." She admitted with a sheepish look over her shoulder at Spock. Uhura hid a smile behind her hand and Spock vowed very solemnly that he would endeavor not to ruin Jim's cookies. Jim wasn't sure if the idea of Spock baking should delight or terrify him.

"Have fun, kid." Jim summoned his brightest smile. "Learn new things, make new friends – don't forget those card tricks I showed you."

Bones muttered something about Jim turning his daughter into a card shark but Joanna nodded seriously. "Love you Uncle Jim."

"Love you too, JoJo." Jim choked. He looked over at Bones who wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was almost crying. Jim cursed his physical limitations because this would be exactly the time he'd be getting his friend disgustingly drunk. Maybe he'd recruit Scotty to do the job? He'd just pass out on the bar.

Uhura guided his chair away from the waiting shuttle to give Bones some time alone with his daughter.

"Glad to be out of that room?" She asked him.

"You have no idea. Quick, let's stage an escape while Bones isn't looking."

"Sure," she agreed, "if you think you'll stay awake long enough to appreciate it."

"Ugh," Jim moaned. "You suck."

"You'll get over it." Uhura laughed. "But really, how are you feeling?"

"Stagnant." Jim complained. "All I do is sleep and occasionally wake up to annoy Bones. I've never slept this much. Like, never ever."

"You clearly need it." Uhura said softly. "You need time to rest and recover and this time you can actually get enough of it without having to worry about being back on duty."

"Yeah." Jim said tiredly. "That's something at least." He foolishly closed his eyes and found it impossible to open them again.

"How long before he's trying to actually break out of the hospital?" He heard Uhura ask Spock.

"I cannot be certain, but I do believe Lieutenant Sulu and Mr Scott have already started taking wagers."

"Sly bast-"

Apparently Jim had not completely bypassed the stage where he fell asleep mid-sentence after all.

* * *

Jim spent another three weeks in the hospital before being checked out to make the final stages of his recovery at home. Since 'home' consisted of an empty, soulless apartment in a Starfleet owned complex by the bay, Jim had not held much hope of the atmosphere improving, but at least he could expect some privacy.

When Bones steered him through the front door and the whole room erupted into wild cheers be wondered if perhaps they had entered the wrong apartment.

At least until he got a slap on the back from Scotty and an enthusiastic hug from Chekov, then he came down with a sudden onset of blurred vision that was only cured by Uhura taking his hand and sitting him down on a couch he did not remember buying.

"Your interior decorating sucks." Uhura shrugged absently. "Really Kirk, even you need more than just a replicator and a bed."

Jim tried to make a joke out of it but was still stunned by the sheer volume of people – and stuff – in his apartment.

"What is all this?" He asked.

"Housewarming party." Scotty said brightly. He'd clearly already been at the alcohol. "Or a 'Glad Ye Are Nae Longer Dead party. Take yer pick."

"We went shopping." Uhura admitted without shame.

"You went crazy." Jim marveled. He'd never really owned anything, just the clothes on his back and his uniform.

"I believe," Spock said quietly, "your crew wished you to have more ties to life than your mere existence."

"So you guys bought me a couch." Jim said in bemusement.

"And a coffee table." Scott added happily. "Do ya feel more connected with the world now?"

"Well I feel something." Jim said honestly. "Can I get a drink of that?" He asked, indicating the purple liquid Scott was chugging.

"You can have green tea.' Bones said with a mean grin. "You're still on medication."

Once upon a time, Jim might have complained but tonight even tea sounded good. There was music playing and friendly faces everywhere he looked. It was slightly overwhelming but utterly wonderful.

He stayed in his position on the couch as everyone circulated around him, all as honestly thrilled to spend time with him as he was them.

About an hour after he'd arrived, he looked up from his second tea into Carol Marcus' hesitant face.

"Hi." He said, pleased to see no sign of the injury Khan had inflicted on her.

"Hi." She echoed.

Jim wasn't really sure what to say. Unlike the others, he'd never had an actual conversation with Carol and it left him with no grounds to begin. His usual flirtatious standby seemed inappropriate, and she was technically still a member of his crew.

"I'm sorry, I probably shouldn't even have come," She suddenly said, "but Nyota said you'd want to see me and I did want to see you and make sure you're alright. And now I'm rambling, I should stop. And go. Both, actually. I am glad though: that you're alright."

"Carol," Jim reached over and grabbed her wrist before she could flee. As bemusing as her timid words had been, the fact that she called Uhura by her first name suggested that it wasn't just Joanna McCoy who had been bonding with his crew while he was recovering. "I am glad you're here, and I'm doing well, so thank you."

She smiled nervously, "I didn't think you'd really want to see me."

Jim knew he must have looked incredulous. "The only person I don't want to see right now is Bones, and he never listens to me anyway."

Across the room, Bones lazily flipped him the bird. Carol chuckled at their antics, breaking the ice as Jim had hoped it would. "Can I get you more tea?"

"Only if you put a shot of vodka in there." Jim grimaced. 'I thought I'd be okay with tea. Turns out, not so much."

"No vodka. You're still on medication." Carol said sternly, rising to get him more tea.

"Oh you're gonna get along here wonderfully." Jim grumbled good-naturedly.

He heard her laugh as she moved out of view but it was Spock who took her vacated seat a moment later.

"Should we leave you to your rest?" He asked in concern.

Jim waved his hand absently, closing his eyes and relaxing against the couch. Whoever had picked it was seriously sneaky because it was soft and comfortable and Jim could see several late night reading sessions being thwarted by its matching cushions. "Nah. It's nice. You all being here."

"There is nowhere we would rather be, Jim." Spock said softly.

"Damn right." Bones dropped down into the spot next to Jim and a moment later he was wedged in on all sides, too many limbs vying for space as arms wrapped themselves around him comfortingly. "Now then, time to fill a gap in that giant brain of yours." He announced gleefully. The music was turned off as a holo projected against the far wall. "The time honored pastime of all invalids, cripples, old folks and sick people." Bones said, choosing the most offensive language possible just to get a rise out of Jim, who would have elbowed Bones in the chest if someone hadn't been sitting on his arm. "The soap opera."

"Hasn't this been on air for like three hundred years?" Jim asked in alarm as the music began to play.

"Two hundred and ninety four." Bones corrected him happily.

"I don't think I'm going to get caught up before I'm back on duty." Jim said dryly.

"Shut up and watch." Bones scolded him.

Jim angled his head to get a better look at Spock who seemed to be mildly fascinated with the whole experience. "No, of course you're not going to help." He huffed.

He wasn't sure who threw the pillow at his head but he was certain it was against regulation.


	2. Chapter 2

So the threats have started already. I'm so pleased!

I've been asked to clarify my stance on swearing so here goes. Bones' middle name is 'Damnit'; for a Scotsman of his profession Scotty's language is actually pretty tame and Jim was practically raised by wolves. There will be swearing. I don't believe it is excessive, but you might disagree.

The soap Bones made Jim watch was Days Of Our Lives, because he is an awesome friend like that.

* * *

Life, surprisingly, continued on as it always did. Eight weeks after checking Jim out his care McCoy found himself splitting his time between consultancy work at the hospital and working as an adviser for several of the PhD candidates whose focus he was qualified. It kept him busy and his mind occupied and that was all he could really ask. It would be another nine months before the _Enterprise_ was fit for a shakedown. Word circulating was that she'd be given the first of Starfleet's hotly contested five year missions but nothing was official and Jim would neither confirm nor deny that it had been discussed.

He was not the only one looking to fill his time. While they had all been granted generous leave time, eventually everyone had been biting at the bit to get back to work and only some had the luxury of being actively involved in the ship's repairs.

Spock, Scott and Chekov were continuously bouncing back and forth between space dock and Earth, while Uhura, Doctor Marcus and Sulu were both involved in repair work around the city.

Jim, much to his disgust, had another three months before he was even allowed to take the physicals that would clear him to leave the planet's surface. That order had come from above McCoy's head, and even Jim didn't have the clout to take on the Surgeon General, especially when the man had been dealing with stubborn starship captains for over fifty years.

He helped with the rebuilding program in a subtle way, assisting with schematics and new defensive plans. The few times he had tried to actually visit the impact site he'd been mobbed by the media and done more harm than good to the progress being made.

He was frustrated, McCoy knew as much even though he only saw Jim a few times a week now. Worse, he was bored. Fortunately someone in the Admiralty had some sense in their heads – McCoy had credits on it being Archer, the terrifying old bastard – and had announced - without telling Jim, mind you- that Captain Kirk would be taking over the Command Track seminars at the Academy for the fall semester.

Jim, upon hearing the news, had panicked for a solid six hours. It had been a sight both bewildering and terrifying.

It was a good idea. When Jim actually stopped to remember that not everyone around him had an IQ quite as high as his, he was an inspiring and helpful instructor. Everything Bones knew about warp mechanics, shuttle flight and the interplanetary conflicts of the Orion Syndicate he had learned from Jim, to hell with the official classes he'd taken on the subjects.

He wasn't the only person who thought so, either. Within hours of the news breaking, the whole Academy was a buzz with gossip. McCoy intended to sit in on the class, both for moral support and sheer curiosity. He got there twenty minutes before the start and already the room was packed. A satellite room had to be opened to accommodate the overflow.

"Doctor McCoy!"

"Leonard!"

McCoy looked up at the sound of his name and grinned at the faces smiling back at him. Spock, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu and Chekov were wedged in the middle of one row. McCoy shuffled several pimple faced teenagers out of the way to join them.

"Great minds, huh?" He said, dropping down beside Sulu.

"As this promises to be an enlightening insight into the thought process of Jim Kirk, I do believe it is required attendance for all those who serve with him in close quarters." Spock said.

McCoy snorted. "Bullshit, you're as much of a gossip queen as the rest of us."

Spock's no doubt catty response was silences as the holo projection at the front of the room came to life and Jim's image walked slowly into the room. Though his steps were sure and steady, he made his way instantly to the chair set up for him and sat down with none of his usual flare. He still exhausted quickly and McCoy was having a hell of a time trying to get him to gain back the weight he'd lost while hospitalized.

"Wow," Jim breathed, looking up at what must have been rows and rows of students. "There's a few more of you here than I expected." People chuckled quietly. Janice Rand, who Jim adamantly refused to give up to another captain, had taken over the tasks usually assigned to a TA and leaned down to whisper something to him. "There's another room of them?" He asked, his eyes widening. "Okay, that's terrifying." He waved a hand in the holo recorder's direction. "Hi. So, uh. I'm Jim Kirk." He said, looking momentarily out of his depth.

Then he took a deep inhale of breath, squared his shoulders and faced down the hundreds of students with the same confidence he'd turned on every challenge.

"Look, I'll be honest with you all: I have no idea why I have been asked to teach you guys. I've captained a starship for thirteen months and I spent the last eleven weeks of that time sitting on my ass doing zero fuck all. I don't have years of experience or knowledge to pass on. I don't have heaps of anecdotes and funny stories with craftily hidden moral messages inside them. Odds are, everything we're gonna talk about, you already know."

McCoy wasn't the only person in the room who was looking at Jim as if he'd grown a second head. Scott's jaw was on the floor, Spock's eyebrows halfway up his forehead and Chekov blinked rapidly at the holo as if trying to process some kind of technical glitch. Around them, students and some faculty sat in stunned silence, utterly transfixed as the air crackled with anticipation. McCoy wondered how much more potent the feeling must be in the main auditorium.

"So in light of all that, and since you deserve to get something out of the nine hours a week they are gonna force you to spend with me, I'm going to give you the only thing I really can. Open the class datafiles and load up the first packet.

McCoy looked around in frustration. None of them had access to the Command Track class data, so when the first mutters of disbelief began to circulate they had no idea why. He looked over at Chekov and Scott, who were huddled together over a PADD, whispering quietly. A moment later, Chekov let out a string of Russian. Based on Uhura's slightly scandalized expression, McCoy could only assume it wasn't particularly polite.

"The files you are looking at right now are highly classified." Jim said seriously. "Command have agreed that in light of recent circumstances, transparency is necessary. But that can only happen if you hold true to the values that have gotten you this far. I won't ask you not to share these documents; I shouldn't have to."

Scotty passed McCoy the PADD. Transcribed on the first page of the report was Jim's Captain's Log. McCoy gaped at the screen. While an official document that was relayed and accessed by senior members of Starfleet Command, a captain's log was still an incredibly personal recording of information. That was especially true of Jim, who had literally been thrown in the deep end and very rarely censored himself unless he had to.

"I've also been asked to remind you not to discuss anything we talk about outside of this room." Jim shrugged his shoulders gracefully. "But we all know that's bullshit, so I'll just remind you that it's your asses on the line if you get caught, not mine."

"And one more thing before we get started," Jim added, silencing the low bubble of excitement that had begun to rise in the gathered students. His posture shifted from something open and slightly humorous to still seriousness. "You have access to everything you'll need to make a proper assessment of each mission, but this is a command seminar and you are command students, therefore the only actions we will be questioning are mine. We clear?'

McCoy heard what was unspoken loud and clear: lay off Jim's crew.

Muttered agreement rose quickly through the room. They'd have probably agreed to anything Jim asked. "Alright then. Since the last time I checked there were only thirty forth year command students eligible for this class and there is currently a whole lot more of you warming your asses, let's get the elephant out of the room and start with what you're all here for. You have ten minutes to assess your material, then we will talk about Operation: Into Darkness."

McCoy was ready to leave and would have done if stunned men and women hadn't hemmed him in on both sides, none of who could believe what Jim was saying.

"Holy shit." Sulu breathed in amazement. "He's actually going to do it."

"A most admirable decision." Spock said gravely.

"He's a fucking lunatic." McCoy snapped. "He's supposed to be avoiding stress. This," he waved his arm around the gathered students, several of who had been distracted by his fury, "is a level of masochism I didn't think even he could stoop to."

"That also." Spock agreed. "However, in times of deceit, telling the truth is a revolutionary act."

"I know my Orwell, thank you Spock." McCoy snarled.

Spock shot him a familiar look, one that made McCoy forget that sometimes he liked the damn Vulcan. "Indeed, however as painful as this must be, surely it is better that others learn from our mistakes lest they repeat them?"

"Yeah," Sulu said softly, "but he's not talking about _our_ mistakes, he's talking about his."

They fell into a gloomy silence. McCoy stewed on his anger. There were only a couple of command students in the room with them who had not been able to take a seat in the main auditorium, and they were the only ones with data to read. Everyone else shuffled uncomfortably in the silence, watching Jim intently.

For the most part, Jim looked perfectly relaxed. He sat calmly at his desk, not fidgeting or squirming as he might have done on the bridge. He didn't check before calling the ten minutes but then he'd always had an uncanny knack for understanding the passage of time. "Okay then everyone should be done. It's a short class and we have a lot to cover. I'm going to restrict participation to actual students – don't think I can't see you back there Commodore, you've had your shot."

A ripple of laughter broke the tension in the room and Jim's mouth twisted into a crooked grin.

"Okay then, who wants to tell me where I fucked up first?" Jim asked brightly, "Don't be shy now, my XO is a Vulcan and those guys are a sassy bunch: I assure you my ego is up to the beating."

The first student tentatively raised his hand and McCoy could do nothing but sit back and watch the torture unfold.

* * *

He left the classroom in a daze. As the students slowly came to understand that Jim genuinely wanted to hear their thoughts, they grew more confidence in picking part the various decisions he had made. McCoy half suspected Jim had orchestrated the debate that had erupted in the middle of the discussion as students split themselves down the middle as they disected the various tactics Jim had employed. Occasionally he would mediate, but for the most part Jim played devil's advocate.

As students poured out, buzzing with their own thoughts and theories, McCoy had to grudgingly admit that there were benefits to Jim's ruthless transparency. He just sure as hell didn't have to like it.

"Well that was brutal." Uhura sighed miserably as they slowly made their way out into the corridor. They'd attracted several glances from various students as they were recognized, but McCoy managed to scare most of them away with a scowl and no one had the guts to speak to Spock.

"Educational, though." Sulu admitted. "I wish we'd had something like that; during our training mostly it was theory and decades old battle analysis."

"I do not believe there are many captains who would feel comfortable enough to engage in such an open forum debate." Spock pointed out. "It is one thing to invite criticism from one's commanding officers, but quite another to do so with those of a lesser rank for the purpose of education."

"That's Jim for you, he's all for equal opportunities." McCoy grumbled.

"I am not so sure I vish to sit in on ze keptain's other class now." Chekov said miserably, reminding McCoy that while command seminars were Jim's primary focus while he was sequestered to the Academy, there was one other class he was teaching.

That broke some of his doom and gloom. "No way kid, you want to see this, trust me." McCoy laughed.

"What _is_ his second focus?" Uhura asked curiously. "He wouldn't tell us."

"That's because it only just got approved." McCoy grinned. "Archer and Barnett were at each others throats about it." Jim had found the whole thing far more entertaining than anyone with a grain of social decency should have. "I'm not sure what the official class name is, but he's termed it Shit Creek 101. I'm pretty sure he's going to traumatize anyone crazy enough to sign up."

"Oh god." Uhura groaned. "That's terrifying."

"Brilliant." Sulu corrected with a grin.

"I'd say a healthy dose of both." McCoy chuckled. "I think he plans on using an assault rifle at some point. He took the damn thing out of my lockup." Normal friends stored random items for each other all the time - McCoy stored Jim's various weapons. In hindsight, that should have been the first thing to tip him off that Jim was the wrong side of batshit crazy: what a kid who only owned one set of civilian clothes needed with five different models of phasers was anyone's guess.

"We are going, right?" Sulu asked with slightly more enthusiasm than a man his age should possess.

"To see Kirk put a group of starry-eyed teenagers through the same crap he puts us through?" Uhura's frown broke into a wide grin. "Absolutely."


	3. Chapter 3

I'm so glad you liked the last chapter. I know you're all waiting for me to be evil and start hurling the angst around, but I did say this one was a long one! It's a slow (ish) start. Still, there are hints of what is to come in this chapter, so please be warned for talk of child abuse.

Thank you for the continued support – your thoughts, threats and flailing make my day brighter.

* * *

Spock hesitated outside of Jim's front door as minutes passed with no answer. He knew Jim was at home, having been informed by the building's on site security team. It was reasonable to expect him to be sleeping, given the hour of the night, but Spock was used to a commanding officer who woke at the slightest sound, if indeed he was sleeping at all. Jim's nocturnal habits while convalescing were normal, but he had been making vast improvements in his recovery which suggested a return to previous form.

And if he was honest with himself, as he was resolving to be, he was concerned. His worry when it came to Jim's health and well being was irrational he knew, but there was no countering the fear he felt when he paused to consider the various maladies Jim might encounter on a day to day basis.

Nyota accredited it to the trauma of witnessing Jim's death. Spock could not disagree. There were times when his memory would replay the final moments of Jim's life on loop, tormenting him for hours on end.

As another three minutes passed with no response, Spock entered the code to gain access to the building. Both he and McCoy had been given it in case of emergency.

Stepping into the dark apartment, Spock wondered if perhaps it _was_ an emergency.

Then he saw Jim, curled up on his couch, clearly fast asleep.

Embarrassment and shame warred within Spock as he began his retreat. Jim would not take kindly to having his privacy invaded for no good reason, and Spock could not claim to be concerned with Jim's health if he then chose to interrupt his rest.

He would have turned and left then, had his sensitive hearing not picked up on the minute sounds of distress that escaped Jim. He turned and took a hesitant step closer.

On further inspection, Jim was perspiring and his brow was furrowed in distress. His body, though curled tightly in on itself, was tense as if ready to flee.

Nyota had suffered from nightmares after the hostage situation on Io earlier in the year. The first time it had happened, he had been at an utter loss as to how best to provide comfort. Sometimes she wished to be held, others she wanted her own space. He never knew until the moment she woke. All he had learned was that he could not stand to see her suffer the torments of her own dreams, and it seemed it was no different with Jim.

He reached down and gently placed his hand on Jim's arm, ready to carefully shake him back to consciousness.

Instead, the second his hand touched Jim's skin, he was dumped unceremoniously onto the floor, his face pressed against the smooth surface and his arm twisted painfully behind his back. An object that he could only assume was Jim's knee was pressed firmly against his spine, pinning him down.

"Holy shit, Spock?" The fingers around his wrist suddenly released as Jim scrambled back.

"Captain." Spock said from his undignified position on the floor. "Are you well?"

"Am I well?" Jim echoed. "Are you out of your freaking mind? What the hell are you doing here at…four am. Jesus Christ."

Spock rolled over and climbed to his feet. "I wished to discuss something with you."

"At four in the morning." Jim said flatly.

"I'm aware that I might perhaps be too hasty in my need for your opinion. It can wait. Please forgive my intrusion." Spock made a quick move for the door but was stopped when Jim moved to stand between Spock and his target.

"Ask me what?" He asked, crossing his arms.

"I beg your pardon?" Spock queried.

Jim rolled his eyes. "What was so important that you came over here in the middle of the night to ask me?" He asked with the tested patience of a man who was currently juggling the academic careers of thirty students.

Spock opened his mouth, then closed it quickly. "I…do not recall."

Jim blinked his eyes slowly, obviously questioning Spock's sanity, as Spock himself was doing. In truth he had no reason to be seeking Jim's company at such an unsociable hour. He simply could not sleep himself and had been unable to shake off the feeling that Jim was in need. "Right. Okay then. You want a tea or something?" Jim had stopped asking Spock if he wished for caffeine several months ago.

Spock was sure he had not gotten away with his complete failure to explain actions he himself did not fully comprehend, but Jim did not appear to intend to question him further.

Spock was also able to appreciate McCoy's concerns to Jim's physical well-being as valid, and not the product of his overprotective nature. In his uniform or the bulky leather jacket he favored, it was almost impossible to tell just how much weight Jim had lost since his death. Now, wearing only loose Academy issue sweatpants, Spock did not find it hard to count the number of his ribs. He had lost mass in his shoulders as well, whittled away by sickness and inactivity to bone and sinewy muscle. It was no wonder he was not allowed to take the physicals he'd need to take up more active service - Spock highly doubted he would be able to pass them.

Jim caught him staring and clearly misinterpreted his concern. "I'm taking a shower." He said grimly, leaving the room before Spock could protest.

He considered calling McCoy for advice, but knew that would only bring the doctor running, regardless of the hour. Nyota would also be sleeping by now, and it seemed like a violation of Jim's trust to be seeking her advice on such a personal subject.

He made his way instead to the kitchen and input the specific chemical components of the food substance Joanna McCoy had assured Spock Jim liked best of all. There seemed to be no nutritional content involved, but the mere consumption of calories was favorable to the nothing Jim seemed to be existing on.

He might have gotten slightly carried away. When Jim entered the room twenty minutes later, Spock had replicated two dozen round, sweet, carbohydrate and sugar laden cookies.

"Holy shit." Jim exclaimed, his eyes widening as he took everything in.

"I apologize for the mess." Spock said, looking around at the carnage the process had wrought on Jim's exceptionally clean and tidy kitchen. "I will of course clean once I am finished."

"Finished what? Feeding the five thousand." Jim exclaimed. He took a seat at the small breakfast table Nyota and Carol Marcus had insisted Spock procure for them and drummed his fingers against the sleek surface. Dressed in casual attire, it was once again easy to believe he was hale and well.

"I do not believe I have replicated enough items to feed such a large number of people, however if you wish it, I can continue."

"No thanks." Jim snorted. "I'm not sure this is what Jo had in mind."

"She does seem concerned with your health." Spock observed. It had been rather fascinating, watching Jim interact with the child. "It is a concern I share." Spock added tentatively.

Jim groaned and rolled his eyes. "Not you as well." He moaned.

Spock hoped he was reading the conversation right: it did not seem as though Jim was genuinely upset, but his words and their meaning were very often contradictory. "Your aversion to caring for yourself has been noted by both myself and many of your crew. Doctor McCoy especially."

"It's not like I don't," Jim said defensively. "Bones makes a big deal out of it."

"Forgive me Jim, but on this occasion I must admit to agreeing with the doctor." Spock said, finding the words as odd as the feelings that accompanied them. "You do not achieve the amount of adequate sleep that humans require for optimum function, and you barely eat. It is my understanding that both of these traits are indications of depression and are completely understandable in light of your recent ordeal." Jim's expression curdled into something highly unimpressed and Spock quickly continued. He had come to realize that with this human, a direct approach was the only course of action. "However, it is my understanding that neither of these behavioral traits are recent developments."

"So I'm chronically depressed, great." Jim said darkly. Spock quickly realized that he had perhaps been off the mark and quickly attempted to redirect the course of his aim. He had come to treasure the ease of company Jim provided and feared greatly that they revert to the antagonistic relationship of their earlier time together.

"Forgive me, I did not mean that as it sounded." Spock said genuinely. "I only mean to say that I share the doctor's concerns and wish only to help in whatever capacity I can."

Jim's hard expression broke and Spock caught a glimpse of something fragile and lined with fractures. "I know," he sighed, "I'm sorry. I'm trying not to be my usual asshole self but I think I'm only successful half the time." He picked up the cookie and turned it over in his hands. "Truth is," he said hesitantly, "I've never really slept well. Which, ironic right? Seeing as sleeping is all I seem to be doing right now."

Spock sensed that Jim was genuinely opening up to him and resolved not to make an error that could jeopardize that trust. "Can that be accredited to your insomnia, or the nightmares?"

"Bit of both, I guess." Jim shrugged. "When...when I was a kid, my uncle..." Jim paused and bit his lip, "let's just say it was better if I didn't sleep much when he was around."

Spock did not think he would ever become accustomed to the rush of emotions that Jim could inspire in him, but the more time he spent in contemplation of them, the easier he found it to let them wash over him without action. The rage came and left him quickly, settling into compassion. "I see."

"Do you?" Jim laughed bleakly. "I sure as hell don't. "It just got to the point where I couldn't sleep for more than a couple of hours, even if I wanted to." Spock failed to understand how, in today's civilized time, a child could be so brutalized by his guardian that he'd taught himself not to sleep for fear of the consequences.

"And this?" Spock asked, indicating the cookie Jim was still twirling between his fingers. Jim blinked and looked down at his hands, almost as if he'd forgotten it was there.

"That's..." Jim sighed. Clearly torn with how much he felt it safe to reveal. "There was a time once when I'd have given anything not to feel hunger," he admitted, his gaze far in the past. "Guess I got my wish."

"Not at all?" Spock asked curiously.

Jim shook his head. "Happens sometimes. When you're starving. First it aches, then it hurts, then you think you're gonna die from it and you kinda hope you will, then...then it's like you're okay again. It doesn't hurt anymore. Like hypothermia, I guess. When you stop feeling cold and everything warms up."

"And death inevitably follows quickly." Spock said seriously.

Jim laughed, as if they weren't talking about something too horrible for words to do it justice. "Yeah, well. It was touch and go for a while. Bones doesn't get it, he says my appetite should have returned when I started to recover. He thinks it is psychosomatic."

"You sound like you agree."

"I know it is." Jim admitted, breaking the cookie in two. "You watch little kids get strung up and left to die because they were hungry enough to steal a moldy loaf of bread and got caught..." he set the broken cookie carefully down on the table and sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Leaves a nasty aftertaste."

There were times when it was hard to believe that the man in front of him was as young as he was. Jim's twenty seventh birthday loomed on the horizon and already he had endured far more than his share of pain.

"You have been grievously mistreated in the past, Jim." Spock said softly. "I assure you I will allow no such thing to happen to you again." He had never spoken words he meant more.

Jim looked up at him and laughed incredulously. "Thanks Spock, but I'm really not your responsibility."

"On the contrary." Spock said stiffly. "I am your first officer. I believe you will find that your safety is _officially_ my responsibility."

"My knight in shining armor, huh?" Jim chuckled.

"Vulcans do not require armor."

"Don't give me that shit." Jim rolled his eyes. He picked up one half of the broken cookie and handed it to Spock before biting off the corner of his own portion. He did it purely for Spock, and the gesture was appreciated. "Save it for the tourists."

"Or your students, perhaps?" Spock queried.

Jim laughed again and the shadow of gloom lifted from the room. "God, don't remind me. You know this is Archer getting me back for Scotty, right? I swear that man holds a grudge like you wouldn't believe." Jim's wide grin made it clear he knew exactly how hypocritical he was being.

"Regardless, I do believe you have much wisdom to impart." Spock attempted to reassure him.

Jim groaned again. "Why is it you never say stuff like that when there are witnesses?"

"For precisely the reasons you suspect. I have a reputation to maintain."

"Yeah right." Jim snorted.

"I do not lie though," Spock said, tasting the cookie hesitantly. "Your lesson was remarkably insightful."

Jim glanced down at his hands before returning Spock's gaze almost self-consciously. "Thanks."

"And I am curious as to your second focus. Doctor McCoy has been most vague about the details." He was surprised when he finished the cookie, not usually a fan of sweet foods, nor human recipes.

Jim grinned at him across the table. "It's gonna be awesome." He said, "and that's all I am saying."

"Very well." Spock conceded. "I should probably leave you to your rest, regardless. It is now considered very early."

"Nah, I'm not sleeping again and we both know you don't need to. Stay. Have more cookies." Spock frowned but accepted a second none the less. He wasn't sure why Jim's smile was suddenly so blinding, but he feared he would soon find out. "You know these are chocolate, right?" Jim chuckled.

"Is there a reason that should concern me?" Spock asked, never having sampled the popular human confectionery.

"No," Jim laughed wickedly. "None at all."


	4. Chapter 4

Jim's a horrible devil, isn't he? Poor Spock! You can hold your threats for now as well - this part is pretty much angst free. What is the world coming to?!

And for the record, my laugh as I sit here plotting is more devious and malevolent, though it does at time border on wicked.

* * *

"Kirk?"

Jim sat at the desk in the office he had been given, elbow deep in the 3D schematics for the new warp core Scotty had sent him over that morning. In previous models the couplings had been crafted out of solid steel, designed to withstand the brute pressure created by the core when it was active. Together, Jim and Scott had proposed a new design which made use of an alloy based material and though strong enough to do the job of its predecessor, allowed for nine degrees more flexibility. The design should, they had postulated, decrease the likelihood of the two couplings falling out of alignment. It wasn't a surety, but as Jim had put it, the worst that could happen was it made kicking the damn thing back into place a little easier on the poor bastard who did the job.

Starfleet Engineering had been running the design for the last four weeks, subjecting it to every category of control measures they could before the approval had come in that morning. The progress had been uncharacteristically quick, something Jim attributed to the urgency of getting the _Enterprise_ active again, and a long, tedious evening where he and Scotty had plied the head of the department with whiskey and strippers. Underhanded, him? It was Scotty's idea, actually, he just suggested the bar.

"Kirk!" Jim jumped in surprise, not having seen the arrival of the Admiral who now stood in the doorway. Then it was a case of trying not to grimace.

"Admiral Archer. What bring you out on this fine-"

"Save it, Kirk." Archer had been dealing with Winona's bullshit long before he'd had to deal with Jim's and as such possessed an uncanny ability to cut right through it. There weren't many people that gave Jim the instant urge to snap his heels and salute, but Jonathan Archer was one. "According to various faculty members," Archer's expression made it clear what he though of them, "you've locked your entire senior class in a room and turned off life support."

"Is that a problem?" Jim frowned, failing to see why that would require someone of Archer's standing to descend on Jim's tiny office space.

"Some might say it is." Archer said. As old as he was, Jim had no delusions about the Admiral's ability to make his life difficult. It was Archer's fault Jim was teaching in the first place.

"Oh." Jim frowned. "That's unfortunate because they're in the middle of a class."

"A class you're supposed to be teaching."

"I am teaching it." Jim protested. "I'm also doing the workload of four people," he pointed out with a glance at the piles of work that were literally surrounding his desk and spilling over onto the floor. Starfleet might be paperless but it sure as hell did not know how to utilize space. "So I'm multitasking."

Archer took a seat opposite Jim's desk without being offered. "I see. And do you plan on letting them out before they suffocate?"

Jim shrugged. "They'll be fine."

"They'll be dead." Archer argued.

"It's the first class. Even I wouldn't kill a student in the first class." That sounded much more reassuring in Jim's head. He tried again. "No fatalities, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that, Kirk." Archer warned. "Just because Barnett convinced me to let you run your little experiment-"

"Training exercise, sir." Jim protested.

"_Experiment_," Archer repeated, glaring at Jim from beneath heavy gray eyebrows. "It does not give you carte blanche to just kill off your students. Recruitment's down as it is and we've already invested three years in this bunch."

"You're all heart, Admiral." Jim chuckled. Archer looked at him pointedly. "They're perfectly safe, I assure you."

"I've heard that from you before." Archer pointed out. He reached out for the holo Jim was working on and began to inspect the specs. "I seem to recall it ended in Chris having to lock both you and McCoy in the brig."

Jim cringed. That hadn't been one of his finer moments. In fairness, it had been mostly Gaila's fault, though Uhura had unwittingly played a hand in it. Bones had just been along for the ride and still had the tattoo.

"No incarceration will be necessary." Jim stressed. "It's just something easy to break them in. Worst case scenarios and all that."

Archer set the holo down without comment, which was as close to praise as Jim was ever going to get from the man who had once threatened to have his mother shot on sight. In Archer's defense, she'd probably deserved it. "All the shit you've pulled over the years and the worst you can do to them is lock them in a room together?"

"Without life support." Jim protested again, this time grinning.

"I'm still failing to see the lesson here."

"It's Thursday." Jim explained. Archer frowned questioningly. The old bastard had been out of the loop for too long. "Thursday morning." Jim prompted. "First class of the day… which is followed by the same eleven am lecture it has been for the last thirty years…"

Realization dawned on Archer's face, along with something that might have been reluctant admiration. "That's cruel, Kirk, even for you."

"Hey," Jim held up his hands, "Worst case scenario."

In honesty he'd struggled for a while with how best to break the cadets into the class he'd convinced the head of the Academy to let him lead. Intuition and spontaneity were two attributed not actively taught on the syllabus for any major and Jim strongly felt they should be. `Shit Creek 101 was, in essence, designed to force cadets into breaking some of the carefully crafted rules they were bound by.

So yes, Jim had locked them all in the classroom, and yes, he'd turned off life support. That was only a mild concern, as they had more than enough air to last them the entire morning even without the extra generator. Right now, they'd be a little freaked out, a little confused.

The shit of Shit Creek would be dawning in roughly ten minutes when the more astute of them realized that Jim had no intention of returning to let them out in time for their next class.

Then…then there would be mass panic.

Thursday's eleven hundred slot had been given over to Interspecies Diplomacy thirty years ago and taught by the same instructor ever since. Jim had always found the class slightly surreal as it was taught by a woman who had no patience, no tact and no sense of humor. Supposedly, being late didn't get you a demerit; it got you kicked off the course. Since it was a requirement for all Command students, even Jim hadn't dared test the validity of the rumor.

"Will they make it?" Archer queried.

Jim shrugged. "The override to the door is easy enough." He'd tested it on Chekov, who'd cracked it in fifty seconds, and then Bones, who'd thrown the PADD at his head. Somewhere in there was a middle ground, he was certain. "Their best bet is to just take the door off."

"You want them to cheat?" Archer laughed, leaning back in the chair.

"God yes." Jim huffed, seizing back his holo. He really did have too much work to do. "What else am I supposed to teach them?"

* * *

"Kirk!" Jim threw the holo down onto his desk and gave up. Clearly he wasn't going to get anything done that morning if people kept interrupting him.

"Lieutenant, what can I do for you?" Jim asked, smiling when he saw Uhura standing in the doorway. She was in uniform, so he used her rank.

She, however, did not seem inclined to use his. "What the hell did you do to my boyfriend?" She snapped, taking Jim back to a time in the Academy where he'd genuinely feared for his balls every time they crossed paths.

"Er…" Jim stalled, "he was fine when I left him this morning." He said hastily. Granted, fine was a relative term, but Spock had been functioning, if not entirely steady on his feet.

"Bullshit! Do you have any idea what you've done?"

Jim rose from his chair and held up his hands. "We had cookies. So there might have been a little chocolate involved and really, am I just supposed to know that cocoa is intoxicating to Vulcans?" So he had known, and maybe he'd been a bit unfair, but the look of complete bewilderment on Spock's face when his equilibrium had abandoned him had been priceless. And at least Jim escorted him home and put him to bed. Bones had a tendency to just dump him in the shower and turn on the spray, the sadistic bastard.

"Save it, Kirk.' Uhura glared at him. "We both know you're never as dumb and pretty as you pretend to be."

"Hey, I'm always pretty." Jim protested with a pout. "And technically he started it." Jim was apparently on the same mental wave length as a five year old these days. Though it was true, Spock had been the one who made the damn cookies in the first place, which was a weird enough thought as it was. He's gotten a holo to send to Jo – she'd be thrilled.

Uhura rolled her eyes at him and advanced threateningly. It wasn't cowardly to hide behind his chair, Jim told himself as he did exactly that. "I don't care who started it." She growled. "I don't even care that it happened in the first place. What I _do_ care about is the complete lack of warning you gave me before I woke up to a hung-over Vulcan."

Oh. Oh _shit_. Jim cringed. "I owe you something shiny, don't I?" He said apologetically.

"You bought me new shoes." Uhura said grumpily. That was when Jim saw the bag by her feet. The large bag from what looked like a designer boutique. "They are very fierce and _very_ expensive."

"I'm generous that way." Jim nodded quickly; glad to see she'd at least give him enough rope to hang himself with. "And did I happen to get you a bag to go with them?"

"No," She said, her anger cracking as a smile touched her lips. "But you are taking me out for lunch and how much you eat will determine how many stores I drag you around in search of a dress to go with them."

"I've created a monster, haven't I?" Jim sighed, obligingly reaching for his uniform jacket. When did he think it was okay to teach his crew the fine art of blackmail and coercion?

All traces of Uhura's ire had complete bled away as she looped her arm though his and made him carry her bag. "You did." She agreed.

"Sorry about Spock." Jim tried giving her his best woeful expression. It had only had a thirty percent success rate in the past and didn't look likely to improve on those odds if her laugh was anything to go by.

"It's okay." She chuckled, bumping Jim's arm with her shoulder. "But next time send him straight to work. Let Scotty deal with him."

"That seems kinda harsh…" Jim mused, trying to imagine just how miserable Spock must be making everyone right about now and was exceedingly pleased that he was on a different planet. Uhura raised an eyebrow and looked meaningfully at the bag in Jim's hand. He quickly backtracked, "but fair, totally fair."

Uhura continued to drag him out of the building. Jim shot Janice Rand a desperate look as he was dragged past her desk, but she ignored him in favor of filing her nails to scarily sharp points.

"You know," he pouted, "I'm starting to think these bars on my sleeve are just for decoration."

"Pretty much." Uhura nodded wickedly. "Now move your ass, Captain, or I'll have McCoy meet us for lunch."

Jim was going, going. Gone.


	5. Chapter 5

On the question as to whether this will end up having a Jim/Carol pairing…I'm not saying because I am mean. I will however admit to being lousy at writing romance, so no matter what, the story will always be a friendship first kind of deal.

Apparently the fact that I made it this far with so little angst is worrying a few of you. So on that note, on your marks, get set….angst!

Enjoy! Xx

* * *

"Kirk?"

Jim was working late, sat in his office reviewing the holo's from his class and grading each student on their performance. They'd made it out of the room eventually but they had all been twenty minutes late for their dreaded eleven hundred lecture. If Jim hadn't had McCoy detain the kids' instructor in medical for a three hour 'routine check up', heads would have rolled. As it was, the students fell into the classroom barely minutes before their irate tutor and had been too petrified to say anything. Jim had messaged them all after to tell them that yes, he was an asshole but even he had his limits, though they could consider this free pass a one off deal. Next time, they were on their own.

Now the real work would begin.

Still, it was after midnight when he was pulled from his work by yet another visitor. Another Admiral, at that.

"Admiral Barnett." Jim greeted with a tired smile. "You got trapped in purgatory as well?"

Jim had met most of the Admiralty before he'd enlisted and knew them all to one degree or another. He had a tentative truce with Archer – he didn't blow up any buildings, Scotty got to stay his chief – and Pike had been his mentor both academically and professionally. Barnett had been captain of the USS Winchester when Jim, Sam and Winona had been traveling through the Orion system on the lead of one scumbag or another. He'd been the one to try talk Winona out of some crazy scheme, and he'd been the one who pulled Jim away from her body long after her blood had cooled. Despite that, or maybe even because, they'd never been close and Barnett held him to insanely high standards.

Since his promotion, Jim had mended a lot of the bridges he'd burned during his wilder antics as a cadet, but from the serious set to his jaw, he could tell Barnett wasn't making a social call.

"What happened?" His mind was already running through the various missions and projects currently being conducted, calculating possible problems and scenarios and gearing itself up to start finding solutions. It was still working at speed when Barnett sat himself down in the chair opposite Kirk's desk.

"You'll find out soon enough." Barnett said gravely. "There'll be a press conference in the morning."

"Okay," Jim nodded, waiting on more information.

"Technically this has nothing to do with you. I'm only here in person because I respect you, Kirk, and because I was Chris Pike's CO when shit hit the fan last time. I know how bad things got."

Jim frowned. "Sir?"

Barnett leaned forwards, elbows resting on his knees. "We received a Level One Alert four hours ago from a Federation colony. As of two days ago, Martial Law was imposed to counter violent unrest following widespread crop failures. The local government have been unable to keep the peace and so far they have recorded three hundred and twelve fatalities." Jim stared at him, stunned. Barnett didn't seem to be expecting a response, so continued. "They've requested aid. Tomorrow the President will make a personal appeal for volunteers and donations."

Jim shook the stupor that he'd descended into. "Donations? Just send a damn ship!" He knew even as he spoke that it wasn't just that simple, and in Barnett's defense, he didn't lose his cool.

"What ship, Kirk? You know as well as I do how overstretched we are. All the resources we pulled together the past year have been squandered on Marcus' damn crusade, and every ship in the fleet at maximum workload. We've got nine birds left, Kirk. Yours included, and she's not going anywhere."

Jim turned his mind to a solution. "The _Potemkin_?"

"Keeping the Cardassians and Talarians from ripping each others throats out."

"_Cornwall_?"

"Patrolling the Neutral Zone. Along with four other ships. You know this, Kirk." Barnett scolded him. "The Klingons are chomping at the bit for a fight; the Romulans are waiting to see which side looks like the better bet and the Sulibans are taking advantage of the whole situation to hijack or just outright destroy every trade, military or civilian ship unfortunate enough to cross their paths. We're keeping the peace with a fleet that's less than a fifth of what it was two years ago."

"But a Level One…" Jim protested.

"_You're_ the closest ship, Kirk. And to be perfectly frank with you, you'd likely beat everyone else there even waiting for the docks to finish their repairs. We don't have the resources to respond to a crisis any more serious than a goddamn hangnail right now."

"We have smaller ships." Jim said stubbornly. "So we can't evacuate the colony and we can't send in ground control, but we can ferry supplies and aid workers, and we can get experienced people down on the ground to help manage the situation before more violence breaks out." It would be like applying a slick of gauze to a gaping wound, but it was better than nothing. He'd seen how quickly Tarsus had spiraled out of control, even with Kodos clutching the reins. Once panic set in it was damn near impossible to quell. Not when people were starving.

Barnett nodded. "That's what we're going to do."

"I'll go." Jim volunteered instantly. "We can find someone to cover my classes: I can be on the first shuttle out."

"That's not why I came here, Kirk. I'm just advising you of the situation so you didn't have to hear it first on the holos."

Jim kicked his chair back in frustration. "That's bullshit, sir." He said angrily. "You know I'm more use to you than this." He waved his arm around, indicating the cramped office he was in. "We're stretched too thin, I get it, but surely that means using every available asset in the _best_ way possible. You're getting nothing out of me sitting here on my ass."

Barnett slowly seemed to be losing his temper. He slammed his fist down on the desk and growled, "Not happening, Kirk. You're damn right we need to be getting the best out of our people, and that means you _sitting on your ass_ until you're cleared for duty and then you can damn well be sure we're going to throw you in the deep end. We're not wasting one of the few tactical assets we have by shipping you out before you're ready."

Jim sucked in a harsh breath and forced himself to remain in control. "It's going to be a bloodbath, you know that, right?"

"We'll manage the situation the best we can." Barnett said regretfully. "We will provide all the _assistance_ we can. But we can't leave ourselves vulnerable by doing so. Too much is at stake right now." The Admiral pushed back the chair and stood. Jim followed him up. "Like I said, this was a curtsey, nothing more. Teach your class, Kirk. Prepare these kids for the shit storm coming our way. And get yourself fit for the fight that's coming."

Anger and helplessness were two emotions Jim never handled well. The tactician in him understood, even supported, every word Barnett said. The human in him, the boy… screamed at the injustice. Funny how bitter it was from the other side of the fence. He owed Pike yet another apology.

"What's its name?" Jim asked, already knowing he'd been dismissed, despite it being his office they were in.

"What?" Barnett asked from the doorway.

"The colony. Which one is it?" He needed a name if he didn't want to paint it with the same bloody brush as Tarsus.

"Cerberus." Barnett said as he left, the door closing silently behind him.

* * *

Jim was dimly aware of stumbling from his office and sliding down the wall behind Cochrane Hall, the rest of the world disguised by the darkness and his own narrowing vision. His uniform was too tight, the material too heavy and thick as it seemed to shrink two sizes, suffocating him even as he tried to drag in slow, steady breaths. It wasn't the first panic attack he'd ever had – not even the first that month, though he'd be damned before he admitted as much – but unlike recent attempts by his body to sabotage him, he wasn't suddenly thrown into the blinding light and bone deep agony of the warp reactor, but to a land so dry and barren even the rivers of blood filling the streets could not sate its parch.

He lurched to one side and threw up the lunch Uhura had forced him to eat, his eyes watering and his whole body shuddering as it struggled for oxygen.

He'd done so well, sitting and listening as Barnett managed to poke at the festering wound that was Tarsus IV. He might even have made it home before he lost it and drowned himself at the bottom of a bottle. But then with one word, Barnett had innocently ripped the earth right out from Jim's feet.

Joanna wasn't his and never would be. Hell, Jim was self aware enough to know that no kid would actually survive having him as a father. He didn't even _want_ kids of his own. But Jo… he loved Jo in a way he'd never loved anyone or anything in his whole life. And she wasn't even his. She was Bones'.

Oh god, _Bones._

He was startled by the press of cool hands to his cheeks, turning him into the artificial light emanating from the building. His vision was too blurred to make out any features, but he couldn't have worked himself up into a worse panic if he tried.

Hesitantly, one hand moved from his cheeks to his hair, stroking his forehead softly as the other began to rub his back. He frowned down at them, the force of effort breaking the grip of terror that had seized him. They were too small to be Uhura's and lacked Rand's dagger like manicure. He didn't know many other women, certainly none of who would be holding him while he cried and shook and knelt next to his own regurgitated lunch.

"Carol?" He choked, his focus centering on Carol Marcus' perpetually nervous expression.

"Hush Jim, it's alright." She said soothingly, her hand still stroking his hair back. "You're safe, I promise."

"Wha-" he swallowed back on the vile taste in his mouth. "What are you doing here?"

She frowned at him and moved her hand down to check his temperature with the back of her hand. "Here here, or here?" She asked absently, tugging gently at the collar of his jacket to give him more space to breathe.

"Huh?" Her sometimes absentminded sentences made his head spin on the best of days.

"What am I doing here on the floor with you in the middle of a deserted campus, or what am I doing on the campus in the first place? Should I call for Doctor McCoy, you really do look terrible."

Jim shook his head quickly as another stab of panic dug at his gut. "No! No, I mean, I'm fine."

"I doubt that." She said, somehow sounding gentler than Jim was used to. Mostly when he said he was fine, the people around him called bullshit with rapidly decreasing tact. "It's alright, you know? To not be fine. You went though something awful." He realized belatedly that she must have thought he was having some kind of post-I-died related panic attack. He fucking wished.

"No, it's not that. I mean, I'm fine with that as well." He shook his head and tried to climb to his feet. To his utter mortification, his legs wobbled beneath him and he all but fell back down. Carol's shoulder slid under his arm, providing more balance than actual weight bearing support, but Jim leant on it gratefully. "I need to see Bones."

"Shall I call him?" Carol asked, helping Jim back around to the front of the building. Cochrane Hall really was beautiful at night.

"No," he shook his head.

She was silent for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to believe him. "Alright. I have my own transport, I'll take you to his apartment."

Jim stopped walking, forcing Carol to stop as well. "It's fine. I'm good." He assured her. "Shit, I'm sorry you had to see all that."

"Don't be sorry," she said with the same calm gentleness she'd shown since finding him. "And though I respect your wish to go by yourself, I'm going to have to ignore it anyway." She glanced down at her feet then back up to look him in the eye. "I won't come inside with you and I won't ask what's wrong. It's none of my business. I just…I don't think you should be alone right now."

Jim stared at her in silence, trying to remember a time when anyone had ever treated him with such tenderness. His mom, Hoshi, Gaila, Uhura… all women he'd loved in one way or another, all fierce and fearless and occasionally outright terrifying. Carol's gentleness was completely alien and utterly confusing.

He let her take his arm again and tried to summon up a smile. It clearly didn't work, but she returned the gesture anyway. "Thanks."

"Any time."

* * *

Jim had McCoy's access code and had never hesitated to use them in the past. They'd lived together for so long that just having apartments in different buildings had taken some getting used to and they tended to just let themselves in and out of each other's buildings without a second though.

He just needed the extra few seconds it would take Bones to answer to find the words he needed before all hell broke loose.

And Jim knew Hell, intimately. He was proud of how far he'd managed to climb out of it.

And he'd go back in a heartbeat if it meant not having to do what he was about to. He knew he didn't have a choice. not unless he wanted his best friend to learn about the situation on the morning news feeds.

McCoy answered far quicker than Jim hoped he would. Carol had offered to wait for him outside but he'd sent her home with the promise to comm her tomorrow. He'd probably break that promise, and he sensed she knew that.

"Jim?" Bones frowned, hand reaching out to pull Jim inside and already patting him down. "What's wrong? Christ, you look terrible."

"I'm okay Bones," Jim said as seriously as he could. He'd said the words so many times to his friend that he could almost see Bones rolling his eyes internally. "Really. I feel fine. I just need to talk to you."

McCoy's expression shifted to blatant concern. Those weren't words Jim had ever said to him and they both knew it.

"Sure kid." Bones said softly, pulling Jim towards the couch. Jim shook his head. He couldn't stand down for this. "You need a drink?"

There wasn't enough whiskey in the world to help Jim now. He shook his head. "No, Bones. It's…" _Man the fuck up, Kirk_, he told himself. He's broken bad news before. He's told parents and siblings and spouses of their loved ones death, and Jo was _still alive, she had to be_. But God, this was different. This was Bones. This was his brother.

He took a deep breath. "I need to talk to you about Cerberus."


	6. Chapter 6

Will this be longer than _Transitions_, I have been asked. Yes, is the answer. We've got a lot of ground to cover and a lot of woobies to torture. Also a fair few bad guys to juggle, because why stop with just the one? I've also been asked if Kodos will be appearing. I'm going to answer that by grinning evilly.

There are no super horrible cliff-hangers in this part, but there is some mention of drug abuse. Mostly Jim is an idiot. An adorable one, but still.

* * *

McCoy woke up to a blinding headache and the disgusting suspicion that a cat had died in his throat. As he blinked in the first rays of sunlight, his stomach lurched. He rolled to one side and grabbed a hold of the bucket that had been left by the bed just in time to lose last night's dinner.

There was a bottle of water on the side table, along with a hypo, which also explained why his medical bag was open and upended on the floor by the closet. McCoy frowned, his head fuzzy and unclear, but checked the dosage out of habit before administering the complex blend of electrolytes, minerals and analgesics. It kicked in with a punch, taking the edge off the worst hangover he'd had since he'd brought Jim back from the dead.

_What the hell?_

"_I need to talk to you about Cerberus."_

The shot wasn't enough. He scrambled madly for the bucket again as his memories of the night before kicked in.

The bucket and the hypo made sense. Jim must have left them behind for him. It was surprisingly thoughtful, especially since McCoy had the dawning recollection of punching his friend in the jaw.

He cracked his knuckles and wretched. He needed to call Jocelyn. He needed to call his mom. And what the hell was he supposed to say? _I fucking told you so._

Jim had been quiet and more serious than McCoy had ever seen him as he broke the news about the famine on Cerberus and Starfleet's response. They had no reason to think Joanna had even been effected, Jim had said earnestly, no cause at all to think there was any reason to panic.

But even if McCoy would have panicked at just the thought of his baby girl stuck in the middle of a famine, the raw fear in Jim's eyes had done the job of pushing him there just as well.

Cerberus wasn't Tarsus IV. The famine that had hit that colony had simply been the spark that lit the match of Kodos' madness and there was no suggestion, Jim had promised, of anything even remotely similar happening on Cerberus. The colony was bigger, for a start. Communication had already been established with Federation authorities. They could control the situation; they could fix it. Jo would be fine.

Jim had said it all with the quiet desperation of a man who wanted to believe something, so repeated it over and over in the hope that it would come true. He'd clearly been utterly terrified. That had thrown McCoy to such an extent that he'd been able to do nothing since but picture his daughter, his sweet, gentle, innocent little girl, and see the demons he'd seen in Jim staring at him out of her eyes. Jim was a walking, talking, festering wound where Tarsus was concerned, even over a decade later. He'd been a tough kid as well, already having been exposed to horrendous violence from an early age. Jo wasn't like that. She'd been sheltered and protected and loved from the second she'd entered the world and been placed in her daddy's arms. She'd never have survived Tarsus, and he was petrified that she would not survive this.

He never should have let her go.

If anything happened to her, he'd never forgive himself.

His anger swung from Jocelyn for forcing his hand, himself for not having the backbone to say no, and Jim for telling him it would be fine.

Jim had been the easier target, and McCoy's grasp on his temper had been fraying for a long time.

He wasn't even sure what he'd said to Jim, or why he'd hit him, but the fact that he was alone in his apartment was indication enough that he'd crossed the line.

McCoy scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and rinsed away the taste of vomit as his comm. rang. He let it ring through without looking at the ID, but then it almost immediately started again. He rolled off the bed, his body stiff and sore, and snagged the unit.

When he answered it, he hoped to god he didn't look as bad as he felt. "Sir."

The Surgeon General was a stern man with papery skin and a shock of white, untidy hair. Jim called him the Mad Professor, at least behind his back. They both did everything they could to avoid him. Though you'd never have known by looking at him, he was one of the most powerful men in the Federation. He alone had the power to remove anyone from their duties, be they Admirals, or the President himself.

"McCoy." He greeted. "Heard the news. Your kid's out there?"

Agony stabbed at his gut. "Yes sir." He said, his voice breaking.

"Consider yourself on compassionate leave, McCoy. Take as long as you need."

"Thank you sir." McCoy swallowed. He'd expected as much. He'd be no use at all to anyone. "But I'd sooner-"

He was cut off brusquely. "My last official message to you before we hand over to your cover is this: As of this morning, James Kirk is cleared for duty. You're his CMO: this is me keeping you in the loop."

McCoy frowned. "Kirk wasn't due to take the physicals for another twelve weeks."

"Yes, well, he took them this morning." The Surgeon General grimaced. "He's got friends in high places."

"And he passed?" That didn't make any sense. There was a reason Jim hadn't been allowed to take the physicals and it wasn't to spite him, no matter what Jim thought. He simply wasn't capable of passing them. He exhausted himself just doing everyday activities.

"Perfect score."

McCoy nodded. "Thanks for letting me know." He said, ending the call.

_Damnit, Jim._

* * *

Finding Jim wasn't hard. McCoy tracked him down in a quad between SFM and Cochrane Hall. As soon as he caught sight of him, McCoy sprinted over and grabbed his arm.

"What the hell did you do?" McCoy demanded, giving Jim a hard shake and frowning when the kid's blue eyes looked up at him, pupils wider than they should be in the current lighting conditions.

"Passed my physical." Jim grinned at him, his fingers curling around the shoulder of McCoy's jacket, clenching and unclenching awkwardly. "I'm cleared for active duty."

"So I heard." McCoy growled, steering Jim over towards the closest bench and shoving him none too gently down. "What did you take?" His tricorder was reporting some seriously elevated epinephrine levels – levels that McCoy had only ever seen in Jim when they were literally seconds from death. The kid might be an adrenaline junkie, but even he couldn't get himself that worked up over something as mundane as a physical. Especially not without his body increasing its dopamine transmission.

He was riding an adrenaline wave so intense his heart rate was rocking three figures, highly abnormal in a man whose resting pulse was less than fifty.

Jim batted his arm at the tricorder and tried to lean away. "Would you stop that?"

McCoy shook him harder. "What the hell did you take?"

The possible causes ranged from anything as serious as an overdose of cocaine to Jim's screwed up eating habits badly clashing with the insane amount of caffeine he consumed. McCoy watched Jim's heart rate, his own rapidly building momentum.

"It's nothing," Jim shook free of his hold and glared at him. "Jesus Bones, relax."

"Relax?' McCoy yelled at him, "Are you kidding me? Are you trying to get yourself killed. Again?"

Jim flinched but glared right back. "It's just epinephrine. You give me that shit all the time."

"When your airways are closing!" McCoy muttered in complete disbelief. "Christ, Jim. You can't just dose yourself with pure adrenaline and not expect to come crashing back down again."

"So I crash," Jim shrugged, his pulse ever so slowly returning to more acceptable levels. "Got the job done. Barnett can't keep me grounded now."

McCoy stared at him, torn between mounting frustration and warming gratitude. Goddammit, he loved this stupid kid. "You're a goddamn moron." He told Jim.

"So you've said." Jim's manic grin slipped into something serious and earnest. "We're gonna get her back safe, Bones. I promise."

McCoy couldn't find the words as his throat closed and panic threatened to come crashing back. He grabbed Jim around the back of the neck and pulled him into a rough hug. Jim didn't hesitate before returning it.

McCoy eventually let him go but didn't pull back far. He needed the contact and the solid surety that came from knowing that there was literally nothing Jim Kirk couldn't do if he set his mind to it. "Did I actually hit you last night?" He asked, touching a faint bruise on Jim's jaw.

"Yeah, asshole." Jim smiled shakily at him. McCoy could see forgiveness in Jim's gaze without having to look for it, and hated himself a little for his relief. McCoy knew he had a temper, one that was made worse by alcohol, but the thought of hitting someone he cared about because he was drunk and angry… he didn't like that that said about the kind of man he was.

"Sorry." He said, meaning it with all his heart.

Jim didn't seem to care that it had happened at all. Of course he didn't. A sloppy punch from a drunken friend wasn't even a drop in the water to him. "It's okay, Uhura can hit harder than you." Jim shrugged, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"What are we gonna do, Jim?" McCoy asked brokenly. Jim grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

"You're gonna call Uhura and get her to round everyone up." Jim said calmly. "This is a family matter: we're handling it together." McCoy nodded shakily.

"What about you?"

Jim tipped his head, his smile laced with steel. "I'm going to go cash in a few favors."


	7. Chapter 7

Captain Awesome indeed! He doesn't go for half measures, that is for certain!

To answer a question I have had about Uhura, and women in general: Uhura is fierce and I love her. Winona is fierce and I love her. Carol (can be) fierce and I love her. Gaila was fierce and I loved her. In short, one of the great things about the Trek universe is the abundance of kickass female characters. There will be no bashing found here, or in any of my other stories. And if a female character I depict as batshit crazy and a total bitch (Hi, Mrs Kirk) then it will because she wants to be, has the total right to be, and god help anyone stupid enough to try stop her. And if she wants to do it in a crazy short hemline, more the power to her!

Sorry. This rant brought to you by a lack of coffee and a day spent with two misogynistic jerks at work. I now have ice cream and am beating up Jim, so all is right with the world again. For those of you waiting on the whumpage, you've got a few more chapters to go, then it's a free for all!

* * *

Nyota threw her arms around McCoy the moment she saw him. "I'm so sorry, Leonard." She whispered, holding him tightly. He held her back for a moment, his shoulders shuddering with the force of his anguish. When he stepped back, she slid her hand into his. Jim joined them, standing next to Spock outside the hanger bay he'd called them all to.

She couldn't help but feel a great swell of anger at the universe, one that was swiftly followed by sympathetic hurt. She loved these men and it hurt her to see them suffering once again.

Jim's death had hit them all hard, and in its own way his recovery equally as much. She'd thought now, with Jim all but healed, they'd be able to move on from the pain of the last year and try and build something better and brighter. Spock was opening up more; McCoy had lost that haunted look in his eyes; Jim had grabbed onto his new lease of life with a solid determination to leave the past where it couldn't hurt him anymore.

And now this.

Just the thought of that sweet little girl alone in the middle of all that terror was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Uhura had spent a lot of time with Joanna while she'd been in town to see her father and Jim. When Jim had been sleeping, which had happened a lot, Uhura had taught her how to braid her hair and how to talk to Spock in Vulcan just to irritate McCoy. She'd seen Jo work miracles with Jim, who didn't know how to accept kindness from anyone without looking for ulterior motives, but who looked at Jo with the utter devotion of a man completely besotted.

And anyone could see how fiercely McCoy loved his daughter. She'd saved him from drowning in his attempts to keep Jim alive, pulling him back into the word when nothing else would.

After slowly starting to get back on track, seeing the utter hopelessness and pain in McCoy's eyes again was devastating.

"Doctor." Sulu and Chekov arrived a few moments later, sharing their own sympathy and support in the slightly less demonstrative way men did. They were all dressed in civilian clothing and carried small bags for the trip. McCoy nodded gratefully, his expression watery and broken.

"Captain." They greeted Jim, who looked ready to keel over already. She had no idea how he'd passed his physicals and imagined he'd cheated. He done far more reckless things for far less reason.

"Barnett lost his shit." Jim said by way of greeting. "Starfleet aren't giving us anything." He held up a hand before the spark of outrage could ignite. "But it's okay, I got us a shuttle anyway."

"Got?" McCoy asked gruffly.

Jim hesitated. "Kinda."

"We're _stealing_ a shuttle?" Sulu asked incredulously, reading between the lines as Jim led them into the hanger. His eyes landed on the beat up hunk of space junk sitting in the middle of the space. "_That_ shuttle?"

"Of course not." Jim said as if the very notion was absurd. "We're borrowing _that_ shuttle." He pulled on Sulu's shoulder until he could see around the scrap heap to the practically palatal shuttle behind it.

"Not that I'm doubting you or anything, Captain," Sulu said hesitantly, "but am I right in thinking that belongs to the President?"

Jim nodded. "She's in town for the press conference. It's the fastest long range vessel I could get at short notice." He said, oblivious to the stunned faces surrounding him.

"The President of the Federation is loaning us her private shuttle." Uhura concluded. "Kirk, what did you do?" She clearly wasn't the only one who was suspicious because McCoy looked half a second away from exploding.

Jim's attention returned to them and he flashed them those blue eyes of his, not a single sign of the evil genius she knew lurked beneath the surface. "Why does everyone assume I did something bad?" He protested.

"Experience." Sulu said dryly, unmoved by the glare Kirk sent his way.

Jim looked at Spock for help. Spock merely raised a customary eyebrow. "I asked nicely!" Kirk huffed, leading them all inside the exquisitely designed shuttle.

"Bullshit." McCoy shot down. "You said you were calling in favors."

Jim led the way to the shuttle. "And I did."

"You expect me to believe the President of the goddamn Federation owes you a favor?" McCoy scowled at him.

"Believe it, don't believe it." Jim shrugged. "All the same to me. Sulu, watch the port thrusters: apparently she corners like a drunk Ferengi. Chekov, get us an ETA to Cerberus and see if you can't hunt down what other vessels are in the sector. Uhura," just like that, Jim went from joking to business and they all scrambled to obey. She followed Sulu towards the cockpit of the shuttle and chose the seat that was most out of the way. Jim, Sulu and Chekov needed to be at the center of the action. She and Spock flanked them on either side of the small space. "I need you to put out a call to anyone not currently engaged in action – let's see if we can't get a little more assistance here." Jim took his seat and strapped in. "When you've done that, I need you to get a message to the _Peer Gynt."_

Uhura paused, her fingers hovering over her console. "That's not a Starfleet vessel." She said, wracking her brain and coming up blank.

"No," Jim sighed. "It isn't." He agreed, not offering any more explanation.

"Their location?" She asked. Her console was not as advanced as the one she had on the _Enterprise_, but it wasn't far behind. The shuttle itself was the height of luxury and she hoped that they'd at least be able to return it in one piece.

"Not a damn clue." Jim said brightly, leaning back in a chair that looked far more comfortable than his own.

"Of course not." She muttered.

"Thirty seven hours to destination, Keptain." Chekov chimed in from the navigation station.

Jim hit the internal comms. "Bones, you strapped in?"

"_What happened to 'two hours away', Jim?"_ McCoy growled.

"On the _Enterprise_ at maximum warp, sure. We're kinda having to make do."

"_Just get us the hell out of here."_ McCoy responded irritably. Jim rolled his eyes.

"Yes sir, Captain Bones." He quipped, trying to ease the tension. Uhura bit her lip to keep from smiling but her amusement quickly dropped when she switched on the console and a message was immediately patched to them.

"Sir, I've got Admiral Archer here." She said as professionally as she could. Jim winced. She did not envy his position at all.

"Aw crap." He said resignedly. "Okay, patch him through."

She and Sulu shot him identical looks of sympathy. Archer was terrifying and he didn't seem all that fond of Jim, as indicated by the clipped growl that sounded through the cockpit the moment she authorized the connection.

"_Kirk_!"

"Admiral." Jim said, polite tone in defiance of the tension Uhura could see in his shoulders.

"_If you ever go over my head like that again, I'll remove yours from your body_." Archer snarled through the connection.

Jim cringed. "Yes sir. Understood. In my defense though-"

"_Save your damn excuses, boy. I know exactly why you did it. You're as bad as your mother."_

"Thank you, sir." Jim said.

"_That wasn't a compliment."_

"Er, right." Jim said, cringing again. Uhura had no idea what to make of Winona Kirk. On the one hand, she had a lot to answer for in the way she'd raised her kids, but on the other…well, it was hard not to admire a woman that half of Starfleet Command had clearly been terrified of.

"_Well, get on with it, then_." Archer snapped. "_And for the love of god, Kirk, try not to cause an intergalactic incident._"

"I'll do my best, sir." Jim promised, his shoulders relaxing when it became clear that Archer wasn't going to make things difficult for them. "Thank you."

Archer ended the call from his end, not bothering to restrain himself from a growl of irritation. She wondered what was angering him the most – that Jim had gone over his head, or that they were potentially losing one of their key tactical assets.

It was something she and Spock had discussed in length after the incident with Marcus. A war _was_ coming, she knew that. She, like Spock, also knew that Jim was going to be at the very heart of it. They talked about retiring from service, of leaving the danger behind, and both agreed it wasn't in their nature to hide. Nor, now they had found it, did they believe in abandoning family.

It was why they were there without having to be asked. McCoy had called her and they'd come running. The only person who hadn't been able to join them was Carol, who had been summoned that morning to Paris. Since the city served as the headquarters for the Federation President and his attaché, Uhura couldn't help but wonder if she'd had anything to do with Jim 'borrowing' the most secure shuttle in the system.

"Alright then." Jim settled back down. "Sulu, we good to go?"

"Aye sir." Sulu said from the controls. "Engines prepped and ready at your command."

"Spock?" Jim turned to his First out of habit rather than necessity. Since the ship was so small, Spock had no official duties and had busied himself instead with compiling as much information on the situation on Cerberus as he could.

"Captain." Spock nodded calmly. It didn't matter that this was an unofficial mission, that it was not Starfleet business or that Jim had not even asked them to be here. He was their captain and Spock would address him as such. Jim had always been informal with them when he could and Uhura had fallen into the habit of being informal in return, especially with all the time they had spent together socially.

"Okay then," Jim nodded. "What are we waiting for?"

"That would be us." Uhura turned in her chair and smiled as Scotty and Kevin Riley entered the cabin, slightly out of breath. Jim opened his mouth to comment – to no doubt say he needed Scotty at work on his ship – when the chief held up a hand and scowled down at him. "You really think you're leaving me behind again ya crazy wee bastard?"

Jim's mouth closed with a snap and for a second Uhura saw something young and broken in his eyes. He shook his head wordlessly. "Aye," Scott grumbled. "I thought no." He then spun on his heels and marched down to the engine room, muttering decidedly unflattering things under his breath.

Jim then turned to Kevin. Uhura could see the conflict in him and shared his concerns.

"You're not coming, Kev." Jim said softly.

The young man crossed his arms stubbornly. "I went back to Tarsus for you, Jimmy." He said, talking to the boy he'd known in that hellhole, not his captain. "And I'd go back again for Doctor McCoy."

Jim rose out of his chair and stepped closer. "I can't let you do that." He said regretfully. "I'm sorry, but you're not coming with us."

Uhura felt for the kid, she really did, but then Kevin proved he was just as tough as he'd shown himself to be before. He squared his jaw, eyes hard, and stared Jim down. "Lenore." He said stubbornly, as if the word made a lick of sense.

It must have done to Kirk, because Jim blanched, his jaw dropping. "You wouldn't."

"Try me." Kevin said darkly.

Jim stared at him in silence before shaking his head in dazed wonder. "Jesus, I have to stop teaching you guys my bad habits. Was that supposed to be blackmail or bribery?" He asked Kevin, who had sat himself down in the last seat available.

"Both, I guess." He shrugged.

"Lenore, Captain?" Spock queried.

Jim shook his head. "Don't even go there, Spock." He shot Riley a dirty look out of the corner of his eye. "Not cool."

"I learned from the best." Riley shrugged, smiling wryly.

"_Why the hell are we still here_?" McCoy's angry voice cut through the conversation, killing the dark humor.

"Good question." Jim muttered. "Mr Sulu, take us out."


	8. Chapter 8

Language warning! There's a little bit of angst from Jim's Tormented Past, but mostly this is a fairly fluffy chapter. I figured it is only fair to stock up on the warm fuzzies before we start attacking them with chainsaws.

Speaking of fluff and chainsaws, I wrote the backstory for Jim and Pike, mostly to help get things ordered in my mind. Recently I've gone back and tweaked a few things that have developed. Would you guys be interested in reading, despite most of it happening before the films?

* * *

Shortly after leaving Earth's atmosphere, Doctor McCoy arrived in the cockpit in order to oversee Jim's rest. The captain had predictably protested, but his words fell short of convincing when the Doctor was able to not only remove him forcibly from his chair, but drag him bodily from the room. Spock believed that Jim could have resisted if he had been willing to harm McCoy but in the end had settled for squawking indignantly.

They were twelve hours into the journey when Jim emerged again from McCoy's grasps, looking exceedingly rumpled and rather embarrassed. "Sorry I was gone so long." He said guiltily, seemingly unaware of the lack of reproach he was being subject to. They were taking it in turns to rest, falling back into a similar pattern that they followed while on the _Enterprise_. Rotations had been shortened to four hours instead of six, but they worked just as fluidly.

"On the contrary, Captain," Spock said, trying to engage his more human empathy, "we are gratified you were able to take some respite. I believe the next few days will leave little time for it."

"Hmm," Jim agreed, trying to flatten his hair with no success. Spock caught Nyota's amused look and imagined she was used to the sight, given her former roommate's associations with Jim.

Jim gave up on his hair and rubbed his eyes as he dropped sideways into his chair. "What did I miss?" He mumbled tiredly. "Other than Bones abusing his authority."

Doctor McCoy rolled his eyes from his position behind Jim but he didn't comment, a sure indicator of the heightened levels of stress he must be feelings. For all that the captain attempted to maintain a sense of levity for his friend Spock had the feeling it was more out of habit than honesty. He squeezed Jim's shoulder then left the cockpit, unable to face the company. Jim watched him go but did not follow.

"I have the _Peer Gynt,_ sir." Nyota informed him softly from her station, looking uncertain as McCoy left. They all wished to comfort the Doctor, but had no way of doing so until they were successful in their mission.

Jim looked up sharply, all trace of weariness pushed from his form. "You do? Where are they?"

"Circling the Elorg Rift."

"That's…that's closer than I hoped." Jim said. He did not sound as pleased by the knowledge as his words might have indicated, especially as he had requested their location be isolated.

"Shall I hail them?" Nyota asked curiously.

"Yes. No." Jim said, sitting up straighter. "Yes. Yes." When Nyota hesitated, clearly uncertain of his choice, Jim flailed an arm in the air. "Do it before I change my mind!"

Several moments later, the _Peer Gynt_ responded and the screen morphed into a dimly lit cockpit with an equally dubious looking gentleman sat at the helm.

"_You've got some fucking nerve!"_ The gentleman said, his angry expression matching elongated vowels and an accent that seemed to be an amalgamation of several different dialects.

Jim nodded with uncharacteristic awkwardness. "Cy. Long time."

"_Not long enough, Kirk_."

"I get the feeling you're still angry." Jim said, adopting a more serene tone of voice.

"_You left me in jail you little shit!"_ One day Spock would meet someone Jim Kirk hadn't reduced to an apoplectic rage. One day.

Jim frowned. "Okay, lets clear something up: I did not _leave_ you in jail. I posted your bail!"

"_Which means diddly fuck all on Corinth IX and you knew it_." Cy growled. "_Three weeks, Kirk. Do you have any idea how goddamn shitty that place was? Rights are you should have been in there with me. What did you do, fuck the warden_?"

Jim's eyes widened innocently. "Hey now, I did not have to sleep with anyone!" He said in a tone that was not quite offended enough for Spock's liking. "I was an innocent bystander. An innocent bystander you'd just shot, by the way." Spock's head was not the only one to snap around to Kirk in disbelief. "That shoulder still seizes up when it's cold." He huffed, touching his right shoulder absently.

"_Too bad I was aiming for your head_." Cy snarked.

"Too bad you're a lousy shot!" Jim fired back just as acidly.

Then Cy's belligerent expression broke like sun through the clouds and he was smiling, several teeth missing and scars pulling at his cheeks. "_Fucking hell, Jimmy. I missed you kid_."

Jim's expression was equally as brilliant and just as confusing. "You too, man. It's been too long."

"_I'll say. You dropped off the radar kid, we were worried_." Cy frowned. "_Heard you went and joined Starfleet. Didn't believe it none, then you go saving fucking Earth_."

"It's been a weird couple of years." Jim shrugged modestly.

"_Really though? Starfleet?"_

Jim held up his hands in a gesture of innocence. "Wonders never cease, right?"

Cy narrowed his gaze suspiciously. "_Were you drunk?"_ He asked.

Jim cringed. "Actually…"

"_Well there you go: you always did make shitty life choices when you were piss drunk." _Cy laughed, slapping his hand on the edge of the console in front of him hard enough to make the image shudder.

"Speaking of bad life choices," Jim said, clearly eager to change the subject. "How'd you feel about taking a job for me?"

"_For you, or Starfleet?"_

"Me." Jim said, suddenly serious. "I'll pay twice your normal rates and I can guarantee immunity for all actions you make in the process."

Spock could tell he was not the only one who wished for an insight into Jim's thought process, but his shields were firmly up and nothing was leaking.

"_Sounds serious_." Cy remarked.

"Never been more serious about anything." Jim said, his voice even and utterly unshakeable.

"_I dunno, Jimmy. I've seen you pretty serious." _Cy hesitated. "_And we're right in the middle of another job_-"

"Cancel it." Jim cut in. "And I'll reimburse you for any lose. I'm asking you for a business transaction here, Cy. You take them all the time from people who know a whole lot less."

"_And if I say no to your 'business transaction'?_" Cy said with a slightly mocking lilt to his voice.

Jim's ice cool, professional mask slipped. He looked young and exhausted and scared. "Then I'll ask as a friend. Please, Cy. I need your help."

Spock would not have found it within himself to deny such a plea and he hoped the same could be said for the man staring at them all from across space. He and Jim had their eyes fixed on each other, history that Spock could not understand filling the gap between them.

Finally Cy's shoulders slumped. "_What do you need, kid?"_

* * *

"Jim, I must protest." Spock said as soon as the connection with the _Peer Gynt_ was terminated. "I do not believe this individual is trustworthy." Indeed, any man who could be bought so easily should be considered unreliable.

"Cy isn't trustworthy at all." Jim agreed. "Did you not hear the part where I said he shot me? That wasn't even close to being part of the plan, miserable bastard."

"Then why do you insist on engaging their services?" Spock demanded. "Surely there are other, more suitable people we can turn to for aide?"

Jim looked at him from below lowered brows. "Who, Spock? Starfleet have made it perfectly clear they are unable to help and most of the charitable groups that would be coming to assist are caught up either with New Vulcan or Orion and those that can be spared are still several days away." Jim looked utterly devoid of both energy and emotion. "Cy can guaranty that we can land on Cerberus without having to go through the official channels – and since we don't know _who_ that is right now it is the safest option – and he can patrol the atmosphere and discourage any poachers. The _Peer Gynt_ as a reputation, it'll buy us some space."

"A reputation for what, exactly?" Nyota asked softly, sensing that perhaps Jim would not be comfortable elaborating as he had all but admitted to working with them in the past.

"Doing what needs to be done." Jim said, equally as quiet.

"Which is what you have always endeavored to do, is it not, Captain?" Spock said, trying once again to be gentle and understanding when he wished only to understand what was going on inside Jim's head. He had never once desired to meld with Jim before: now he found himself wishing to on a nearly daily basis. He wanted to know if that contact would bring understanding or further confusion. "You have not said how it is you know this man."

"No," Jim said. "I haven't." Silence fell on the cockpit and Jim shifted in discomfort. "Look, I did some stupid things before I enlisted. Some of them I did with Cy and his crew."

"How old were you?" Sulu asked, speaking up for the first time and looking like he, if no one else, at least understood.

"Eighteen." Jim shrugged. "My head wasn't really on all that straight back then."

"None of this information is in your record." Spock pointed out.

"Archer knows." Jim said. "Pike and Marcus did as well."

"Yet you did not tell us." Spock admonished.

Jim looked at him with naked vulnerability, one Spock found himself wishing most adamantly to shelter. "There's lots I haven't told you. I'm not sure I'll be able to say that by the time all this is done."

"You fear our condemnation." Spock surmised. "When your brother abducted you and we learned of your past on Tarsus IV, we did not judge you." He wondered why the lack of trust stung as it did.

"This is different." Jim said quietly.

"It really isn't." Sulu told him. Chekov nodded earnestly. "So you did some stupid stuff as a kid: every kid does stupid stuff. You're just Jim Kirk: you've got to take it to whole new levels."

"I could not have put it more eloquently myself." Spock agreed. "We care not for who you were, only who you are now. That man is one we admire and respect."

"And love." Nyota scolded him for the admission with her expression.

"Well yes," Spock said stiffly. "That also is not incorrect."

Jim looked at them with stunned awe, his expression still raw and open. He scrubbed at his eyes and laughed brokenly. "If you assholes make me cry I'm blaming it on Bones."

"Sure thing, Kirk." Nyota teased him. "Blame your fragile condition."

"Who are you calling fragile?" Jim said with mock outrage. "I'm pretty sure that's mutiny talk, Spock?" Jim had always been the one who looked to include him in the jokes that were often flung around on the bridge. In the past, Spock had either shot him down or claimed ignorance. No longer.

"I believe you have a case for noting it under Starfleet Regulations 34.987_: The proper addressing of senior officers."_

"Yes!" Jim snapped his fingers. "That!" Nyota shot Spock a look that was as proud as it was unimpressed – rather an achievement. "Oooh," Jim crowed. "Someone's on the couch tonight. Don't worry, I've given that baby a test run: it's more comfy than it looks."

"How long until we reach our destination, Ensign?" Spock asked Chekov, pointedly ignoring the growing smirk on Jim's face.

The young navigator could barely contain his laughter. "Tventy five hours, sir."

Spock said nothing, but internally made a sound of put upon distress that sounded alarmingly like Jim Kirk.


	9. Chapter 9

It's only taken 9 chapters and 20k, but we're at the angst and things are starting to get moving. Thanks so much for all your encouraging messages and lovely comments – they bring cheer to my day!

This one touches quite specifically on survivor's guilt and self blame, so please proceed with caution. I've had several people tell me that I'm good to whump Jim, but I need to leave Joanna alone. While I am not spoiling future chapters, this chapter does deal with a child in peril.

* * *

McCoy looked up at Kevin Riley's young, scared face and wondered what the hell he was doing.

He'd left the cockpit of the shuttle because he wanted to be alone. He couldn't handle the worry the others would aim at him, and even Jim's attempts at keeping his spirits up were starting to grate on him. There was no medical bay to seek sanctuary in, so instead he found himself pacing the gleaming halls of the galley.

He'd been alone to stew in his tormented thoughts until Kevin Riley had interrupted, young and well meaning enough to want to help him. McCoy had been set to turn him away with a sharp comment, but he'd paused, looking at the young man for what felt like the first time.

Of all the people who had come with him to Cerberus, he had not expected it of Riley. The kid was here for Jim, McCoy suspected. They certainly were not what you'd call friends, though he'd spent a fair amount of time with the boy when one disaster or another was unfolding.

It was only when questioning Riley's reasons for being there that McCoy remembered: Riley had been Joanna's age on Tarsus.

He wasn't even sure why he'd asked, given how grossly inappropriate it was to do so, but as soon as the words "What is it like?" were uttered he knew there was no going back.

And he meant it in the broadest of terms. What is it like to starve? What is it like to know you're about to die? What is it like to watch people butchered around you and be too small and helpless to do anything about it? They were questions he'd never in a million years have asked Jim, but for some reason he couldn't stop himself.

"You don't want me to answer that." Kevin had said quietly, trying to give McCoy an out.

He did want it. He wanted to know. He wanted to understand what his daughter might be going through because how else would he be able to help her? So he pushed.

And he kept pushing, even when Riley looked like he wanted to run as far away from him as possible. McCoy thought nothing of the wounds he was poking at, only his little girl's face.

"Bones, that's enough!" McCoy hadn't seen Jim arrive and he swiveled around, shock and guilt rising swiftly. He glanced back at Riley, who stood stock still and pale, looking every inch the boy he still was. He was still just a child really, only just turned twenty, and McCoy had no excuse at all for the way he had spoken to him.

"Ensign," Jim purposely addressed Riley by his rank, reminding McCoy that not only had he been bullying a kid who had only been trying to help, he had also been abusing his authority as a higher ranking officer. "Head on up, get some rest." Jim said, his voice authoritative, but gentle. "I'll be up with you in a short while."

Riley snapped his heels but was subdued when he left. "Yes sir." He didn't speak to McCoy again.

When the door closed behind him, McCoy slumped down at the table, his head resting in his hands.

"Bones," Jim enticed, "I can't imagine how you're feeling right now," he said softly, "but you ever talk to him about Tarsus like that again, we're going to have a problem."

"I'm sorry," McCoy said, his voice muffled by his arms. And he was, desperately so. "I'm so damn sorry."

He felt Jim's hands settle on his shoulder in a gesture of support. "I know." Jim knew him better than anyone, he'd understand even if he did have to kick McCoy's ass every now and then. "And look…I really don't think it will help you, like, _at all," _Jim said hesitantly, "but if you need to know, you can ask. Me, I mean."

McCoy raised his head from his arms and looked at Jim over his shoulder. It wasn't hard to imagine him at thirteen; shorter, slighter, the hard angles of his face softer with youth and those blue eyes seeing far too much. He hoped, desperately, that Joanna had found her own protector down on Cerberus, but even then he couldn't not wish Jim's fate on anyone.

"He was her age." McCoy said brokenly. "She's just a little girl." _My little girl._

"I know." Jim said, his eyes mirroring the misery in McCoy's own. "But she'll be okay, Bones. I promise."

McCoy laughed bitterly, having lost count of the number of times he'd woken Jim from a nightmare or had to force him to eat, or picked him up off the floor of a bar because the only way Jim could cope with the memories was to drown them under a torrent of sex, alcohol or violence. He remembered how he'd felt when he'd first learned the truth and imagined having that knowledge dawn all over again, the words on Jo's lips, the black eyes and bruises Jim so often collected decorating her pale skin.

"You don't get to tell me that." McCoy said, hurt and fear making him far more vicious with his words than he should have been, especially with Jim, who unlike Riley might not stand there and take it without a fight, but who would take the words as wounds right down to the bone. "You of all people don't get to tell me she'll be okay."

"Bones-"

McCoy shook Jim's hands from his shoulders and stood abruptly. Jim only moved to accommodate the extra space McCoy took up now he was standing, but it looked for all the world like he was flinching away from him. It hurt like hell, and more so when he thought of Joanna doing the same.

"Don't tell me she's going to be okay, Jim."

"She will be, Bones, you just have to stay-"

McCoy took a step towards Jim, all but trembling with rage and fear. Jim stood his ground, chin stubborn and shoulders set. "That's bullshit, Jim. Especially coming from you. You might be so goddamn messed up in the head that you think you're okay, but Jo isn't like you: she doesn't deserve any of this!"

As soon as he spoke he wished to god he hadn't. He didn't mean the words the way they sounded, not even slightly, and he'd have done anything to take them back. The silence that hung between them echoed with the hurt that had flickered in Jim's eyes. The blank, emotionless expression that quickly replaced it would have made a Vulcan jealous.

"You're right," Jim said flatly. "She doesn't."

"Jim," McCoy reached for him. This time there was no mistaking the way Jim scrambled back to avoid his touch.

McCoy had no idea what to say or how to erase the damage he had done. He knew enough of psychology, and even more about Jim Kirk, to know that he'd just made a brutal hit to the part of Jim that made healing from Tarsus – from every awful thing that had happened to him – all but impossible: the irrational, uncontrollable belief that Jim had deserved it. That by not being smarter or faster or stronger or just by not being Jim Kirk, he'd been personally responsible for what others had done to him.

This was why Joce had left him. This was why he very rarely formed lasting friendships. He sabotaged everything he touched, he hurt the people he cared for the most. Jim might have the tendency to lash out at people in order to protect himself, but McCoy did it to make himself feel less helpless.

He half expected Jim to leave and he wouldn't have blamed him if he did, but like the damn fool that he was, he stood there, not calling McCoy out on his behavior as he would have if it had been anyone else standing where he was, but just waiting for the next hit.

McCoy opened his mouth to speak, hoping to god the words found some kind of cohesion as they were formed, but Uhura's voice spoke through the ship's comm., breaking the silence.

"Sir, we need you up here now." Though her voice was calm and professional, McCoy could hear the undercurrent of worry that filtered through.

Jim turned on his heel and sprinted towards the front of the ship. McCoy chased after him, his heart in his mouth.

They arrived to a cockpit filled with tension and Uhura speaking in soft, soothing tones to a young, hiccuping voice filtering through the ship's speaker system.

"Jo!" McCoy shouted, his knees buckling at the sound of his daughter's voice. Jim caught him and grunted at the extra weight. It was enough for McCoy to regain his equilibrium and scramble forwards towards his daughter's voice. "Sweetheart?"

"_Daddy!"_

McCoy was unashamed of the tear that rolled down his cheek. "I'm here baby. Are you hurt, where are you?"

"_I'm scared."_

His heart broke.

"I know," he choked. "I know you are sweetheart, but I'm coming to get you okay?"

"Jo," Jim broke into the conversation with a quiet voice that demanded obedience. "It's Jim." Jo hiccuped again and sniffed. "I need you to take a deep breath and talk to me, okay?"

"Okay."

"Good girl." Jim smiled briefly. "Where are you?"

"_School_." Jo said shakily.

"Are there any adults there?"

"_No_. _There's no one here_." Jo said softy, her tears having stopped the more she spoke. "_I'm in the principal's office_."

"Is the door locked?" Jim asked.

"_Yeah_."

"Okay good." Jim praised. McCoy desperately wanted to speak to his daughter again, but this was Jim's area of expertise, not his. He could recognize that the best chance Joanna had was if she listened to Jim. "What's happening?"

"_People are here_," Jo whispered. "_They want us to go with them_."

Jim's jaw clenched. "Do you recognize them?"

"_No. I don't want to go with them Uncle Jim."_

"Then don't." Jim said firmly. "Remember what I told you about trusting your instincts?"

"_Yeah_."

"You do that now, okay?"

"_Okay_."

"You're doing great, Jo." Jim encouraged her.

Jo sniffed again, then yelped in fear as a loud, heavy banging sounded from her end of the comm.

"Jo!" McCoy shouted, his fear rising again. Jim shot him a stern look but his own worry was evident

"Jo, talk to us."

There was a moment of silence from Joanna as the banging grew louder. "_They're at the door._" She whispered in terror.

McCoy slumped down in Jim's chair, his head once more falling into his hands as he fought not to throw up or hyperventilate. He felt slim arms wrap around him as Uhura tried to calm him down, but all he could think about was the fact that Jo was alone down there and she was terrified.

Then Jim spoke, calm and reassuring. "Okay kiddo, I need you to listen to me very carefully." He said. "Is there a window you can climb out of?"

After a few moments, Joanna responded. "_Yes_."

"Okay good. I want you to climb out now, and run. Don't stop until you're out of town. You find water, and you find some place to hide, and you stay there. Can you do that?"

Joanna started crying again. "_I'm scared._"

McCoy sobbed brokenly.

"Joanna." Jim snapped sternly, using a tone of voice he had never once used with McCoy's daughter and very rarely used on anyone else. "I need you to stop crying and be brave." Jo must have been as stunned by Jim's tone as the rest of them because her quiet sobs stopped. When Jim spoke again next, his voice was once again gentle. "Now what are you going to do?"

"_Run_." Joanna sniffed. "_Find water and hide."_

"Good girl." Jim praised. "Your daddy and I are coming to get you, okay? You're gonna be fine."

"_Okay_." The banging grew louder and seemed to reverberate in McCoy's head.

Jim leaned over the console, his hands gripping the edge so tightly his knuckles were white. "Jo," he said. "Go. Now."

There was no more word from Joanna and McCoy was struck by the sudden knowledge that that might be the last time he heard his little girl's voice. "I love you, Jo." He said desperately.

She had already gone.


	10. Chapter 10

The angst is here to stay! More of the same themes as the last part, as well as mentions of child abuse. Oh, and the cliffies are back in full force from here on in! Thanks for hanging in there as I set up the main plot, even though things have been pretty light on the action so far.

This is also where I'm deviating from canon a bit. Not a huge amount is known about Cerberus or what happened there, but what we do know I am using for nefarious purposes. And by nefarious I mean angsty.

* * *

Despite some misgivings on Jim's part, Cy came through for them and they were able to land without interference on the edge of the town where Joanna's school was located.

Jim felt like he was back on death's door as they exited the shuttle. He hadn't rested since Joanna's comm., and he'd thrown up the sandwich Scotty had bullied him into eating. Uhura had made him some godawful tasting shake that was the color of toxic sewage and it had taken the edge off Jim's shakes. Bones had made one attempt to offer Jim a hypo but hadn't pushed the matter when Jim had shot him down.

Now they all stood on the edge of town, Jo's school behind them still smoking lazily as only the skeleton remained intact. Jim refused to look at it, instead focusing on the topographical maps Chekov had provided.

"How do we know which way she went?" Kevin asked quietly, leaning over Jim's shoulder to glance at the map. "There's no way to tell."

"So we split up." Jim ordered. "Bones, you and Uhura take the overpass. Spock, take Chekov and scout out the valley - keep your eyes open for ambushes. Kev, Scotty, I need you to stay in town. Keep your eyes open for activity and see if you can't get an idea of who seems to be in charge. Sulu and I will take the forest."

"Jim, you're sticking with me." Bones instantly disagreed. "You're not even close to fighting fit, no matter what you've convinced Command."

"Which is why I have the most badass bodyguard there is." Jim grinned at Sulu whose expression was predictably deadpan. "Sulu can keep me on the straight and narrow."

"The devil himself couldn't do that." Bones scowled. He must have finally sensed that Jim wasn't going to change his mind, and moreover, he was actually right to split them that way. "Alright Mr Sulu, let me give you the lowdown on this clown's kamikaze body." Bones opened his kit and started fishing out various items for Sulu.

"Bones-" This was standard Bones OP - trying to fix the damage he'd caused by fussing and generally driving Jim crazy. It was unnecessary - the things Bones had said, they'd hurt, but they weren't exactly untrue.

Frank had been the one to hammer that lesson home to him, back at a time when the only thing Jim had done wrong was to look a certain way. Frank was an angry man, but never more so than after he'd visit Jim in the middle of the night. He took his own actions as an indication of weakness and would tell Jim as much: _this is your fault. You made me do it. _Jim had learned his lesson and learned it well. As soon as he was old enough he swore that if it was going to happen, if he was going to get hurt, then he'd damn well do something _meaningful_ to deserve it.

He'd taken that satisfaction from Kodos - no matter what he'd done to Jim, it had been worth it.

"This is your Jim standard hypo." Bones carried on, ignoring Jim entirely and letting him drift off into his own thoughts. "He passes out, hit him with the blue. He stops breathing, the red. Anything else, you comm me."

"I love how you've color coded my health care." Jim said dryly, pulling out of maudlin thoughts to pay more attention, "You know I did manage to survive a whole twenty two years of my life without you mothering me." Sulu obediently pocketed the hypo, a medical tricorder and, at Bones' insistence, several packets of field dressing. Bones looked wholly unimpressed at Jim's remark and refused to respond. "Alright," Jim said, turning back to the task at hand, "check in every hour and regroup back here at nightfall. Good luck."

Jim and Sulu waited as the three parties went their separate ways. Then Jim turned to Sulu. "We have a lot of ground to cover." Jim said seriously. "Hope you're fit."

"Fitter than you, sir." Sulu said. Between him and Spock, Jim was fairly sure all this ice cool wit was going to start doing serious damage to his ego.

Still, "Yeah, I can believe that." Jim huffed, steadying himself for what was no doubt going to be a hellishly demanding task. He focused on Joanna; her smiling face and gentle nature, and on Bones. His resolve steadied. "Okay then."

Moving in sync, he and Sulu turned towards the forest and set off at a run.

* * *

Jim had thought about bringing Kevin into the forest with him instead of Sulu. It had been he who had spent several weeks hiding in the ones on Tarsus, after all. In the end, Jim had rationalized that Kevin had only been a very young child at the time. He'd also stayed hidden in the one place for most of the time. It had been Jim who had been running back and forth between the forest and the city, taking extra time and care to lead false trails in case he was ever followed.

There had been multiple times when he'd been so completely exhausted from his nightly activities and keeping up the charade of a perfect student during the day that he'd considered not doing a burn run, and just taking the most direct route back to the city. He'd always made himself, and when they'd finally caught him sneaking back, they hadn't been able to use him to find the kids.

That extra care had paid off then, and it paid off now. It had been a long time since Jim had tracked anything, but the more time he spent in the unnaturally quiet forest, the faster the skills came back to him.

He kept up a brisk pace, Sulu keeping time with no effort at all. Jim knew he wouldn't be able to maintain the effort indefinitely, but he'd keep going until he physically couldn't any longer and then... well, Sulu did have a hypo full of epinephrine as per Bones' paranoia. He'd also be the one most likely to let Jim use it. Bones would never, nor would Uhura or Spock. Jim wouldn't manipulate Chekov or Kevin and he'd messed Scotty's head up enough already. Sulu, out of all of them, shared the same mentality that Jim often did; they were soldiers, and sometimes that meant having to do things that sane people never would.

Sulu tapped his arm silently, catching Jim's attention. He pointed to his ear and shrugged questioningly. Jim nodded, he'd noticed the silence as well. Forests were not quiet places. They were bustling with life and activity. The dead stillness was nearly always an indicator that something was out of balance.

It was nearly always an indicator that something was about to come and bite Jim in the ass.

Jim and Sulu, unlike any of the others, were trained for exactly this. They were command and tactical qualified, meaning that on the occasions when a military response was required on a ground level, they were fully capable of dealing with any situation. It was more than just being qualified to attend landing parties, and it was why, if Sulu and Spock were ever together in a similar situation, it would be Sulu who took the lead. Eventually Chekov would be trained to do so as well, but his posting had been made based on the merit of his intellect and all candidates had to be over eighteen in order to qualify for rapid response training. Jim had been planning to get the kid in for testing before the ship's repairs were complete.

Jim hadn't exactly found the training easy, and in fact they'd gone a whole lot harder on him when it became clear that he wasn't struggling like the rest of his cadre, but the knowledge that no one was actually trying to kill him made the situation considerably less stressful than it should have been. When it came down to SERE, the Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape training that came at the end of the program... Jim had not done himself any favors at all. He'd lasted the entire course without getting caught, which had angered everyone from the other cadets to the entire instructing board. When he'd showed up at the check in point they had been assigned, not having endured the last two phases of the exercise, he'd been drugged and carted off to the facility where the rest of his cadre were being interrogated. When he'd woken, he'd laughed his way through the mild physical beating they'd given him and advised his instructor on his technique. When they'd laid into him for not taking the situation seriously, he'd shown them exactly how serious he could be and broken out, taking the rest of the cadets with him. To this day he maintained his belief that Pike had given him such a hard time about it because he'd been trying so hard not to laugh.

Bones hadn't been impressed, though for once his anger hadn't been focused on Jim. He found the idea of torturing cadets, even under controlled circumstances, positively abhorrent. Jim hadn't had the heart to tell him that the bruises and mild dehydration most cadets escaped with would be the least of their problems if they had actually been taken as POWs.

The few occasions Jim had found himself in similar situations, he had escaped lightly. He'd seen guys lose body parts and suffer scaring so horrific even the best reconstructive surgery could only do so much. No matter what, Jim always healed, good as new and ready for the next round. A good thing too, because Jim's face was more than just a tool for picking up barflies; it was the perfect disguise.

Right now he knew it probably looked as bad as he felt. Certainly if Sulu's expression was anything to go by. Of all Jim's crew, the helmsman was the least prone to fussing, so when he actually showed concern, it was usually because things looked like hell.

Jim pushed down on his tiredness, ready to carry on, when he heard something and froze.

Sulu clearly heard the same thing, because as one they stepped back into the overgrowth and stayed as still as possible. Several minutes later, and the source of the sound came into sight.

The group traipsed through the undergrowth with the careless confidence that came from the massive amount of firepower they were packing. They couldn't be hunters, not with the noise they were making, which meant they were looking for strays and could very well be the people who had attacked Jo's school.

Jim and Sulu kept perfectly still, set to let them pass by. They were vastly outnumbered and seriously outgunned. Nothing would be gained from engaging them.

Jim settled his body, ready to wait them out, when he spotted something in the overgrowth up ahead: right in the path of the oncoming pose, her small face barely visible from a camouflage of leaves and dirt, Joanna was frozen in place.

Relief at seeing her alive was quickly overwhelmed by the knowledge that while Jim might have found her, in a matter of moments, so too would the group of men.

Jim caught Sulu's attention and directed his gaze to Jo. He saw the same 'oh shit' expression dawn on Sulu's face that he wore on his own.

Jo had clearly seen him back because she unfroze and made a tiny movement, as if to run to Jim.

Jim shook his head frantically and thankfully she stopped.

Jim turned back to Sulu and then looked meaningfully at Joanna. Sulu's expression soured as he caught on to Jim's plan.

Jim didn't give him time to react – he jerked out of his restful position and all but threw himself into the path of the oncoming men.

For a split second, they all paused: the men completely shocked to see Jim materialize out of the trees, and Jim considering his options.

This was going to suck. Royally.

"Gentlemen." Jim greeted, shooting them his best and most obnoxious grin. It broke the stillness.

As they cried out in surprise and anger, Jim spun on his heel, away from where Jo and Sulu were hidden, and sprinted off into the trees.

He spared a brief glance over his shoulder to check they were following and ducked as phaser fire pinged over his head.

Jim knew he was a distraction, nothing more, and he knew he wasn't getting out of this in one piece. He hoped their phasers were on stun, but he had no way of knowing until they actually hit him.

They would: he was exhausted, his body having already been pushed to the limit even before they had left Earth. It wasn't even a case of convincing himself to push through the pain – he simply didn't have the musculature of the endurance to do so. He might be able to work through agonizing injuries, but he couldn't make his body do things it wasn't equipped to do. Coming back from the dead had a high price and Jim was still paying it off.

He hoped Sulu had taken the chance to grab Jo and run. He trusted the man to make the right call – to put her life above Jim's, and it was that thought that comforted him when the first of a double round of fire hit him between the shoulders and he lost consciousness before he even hit the ground.

It was worth it.


	11. Chapter 11

Slightly short part as Sulu questions why he enlisted in the first place, Joanna is her daddy's daughter, and everyone wants to kill Jim. Poor Jim.

Thanks so much for your wonderful feedback, support and threats! There's some seriously creative and slightly terrifying people reading and you're all awesome!

* * *

Hikaru Sulu was stuck in the difficult position of having to decide whether or not to murder his boss.

On the one hand, his boss was a Starfleet captain and people tended to frown on killing them.

On the other, that captain was Jim Kirk. There wasn't an Admiral alive who would blame him for it. There were one or two who would probably hand out medals for that matter.

But still, there would be consequences, and they would probably be unpleasant.

He could, Sulu supposed, just let Spock and McCoy do the job for him. And they would, oh boy, they would.

Unfortunately for Sulu however, that plan, as well conceived as it might have been, did come with one rather large complication.

Mainly that Spock and McCoy would embrace the age-old concept of shooting the messenger. Sulu did not join Starfleet just so Jim Kirk could get him shot.

But Jim didn't give him a choice. No, he just threw himself into the path of highly armed, no doubt unstable men and then played the rabbit at a race filled with hungry greyhounds.

Sulu's first instinct was to follow: Jim was his captain and his friend, and both demanded that Sulu do something other than sitting there doing nothing.

His training won out. As the last of the men tore after Jim, Joanna McCoy chose that moment to decide that she wasn't about to let her favorite uncle get shot – very much her father's daughter, Sulu supposed – and crawled out of her hiding place.

Sulu could see it play out clearly in his head: she would cry out, they would return, and all kinds of nasty things would follow, not least being Sulu's imminent death – and if there was anything more terrifying than the knowledge that Spock and McCoy were going to kill you, it was the knowledge that Jim Kirk was.

He rushed forward before she could call out, grabbed her around the middle as gently as he could when moving so quickly and sprinted off in the same direction they had come.

Joanna was clearly so startled – and he hoped it was that and not fear – that she didn't make a sound for the best part of half a mile. When she did, it was only a second of warning before she was digging her teeth into his arm hard enough to draw blood.

Sulu yelped in surprise and set the girl down, only to get a solid kick to the shin for his effort.

"Jim's clearly been teaching you a thing or two." Sulu grunted, not sure how to restrain a small child who clearly had been taught exactly where to bite and kick by father's insane best friend.

Jim's name made Joanna stop. She paused and wavered on her feet. Sulu's mild irritation dropped like a stone. She was just a child and she must have been scared out of her mind.

He knelt down so he was at her level. "Do you remember me?" He asked. She'd only met him the once, and very briefly at that, when the Enterprise had first docked after the Battle of Vulcan. Sulu had been as surprised as anyone when Doctor McCoy had been knocked off his feet by a small bundle of energy with ribbons in her hair. Even more surprising was the way she had jumped from McCoy's arms to hang like a monkey from Jim's neck, and that Jim had not only allowed it but encouraged her.

Her dark eyes blinked up at him, bloodshot and weary, but she nodded slowly. "You fly Uncle Jim's ship."

Sulu grinned. "I do. I'm Hikaru."

He waited, expecting her to tell him her name. Instead she stomped her foot and glared. "We have to find Uncle Jim!"

"And we will. But first I'm taking you back to your father. He's worried about you."

He could see her waver, clearly wanting nothing more than for McCoy to fix everything. But then her stubborn side won out. "No," she said. "We have to find Uncle Jim before the bad men hurt him."

Sulu's chest ached. A child as young as Joanna should never have to worry about such things. "We will." Sulu promised her. "But we need help. Your father and our friends can help us find Jim."

Joanna looked at him assessing. "Is my daddy with Spock?"

Sulu nodded. "Yes he is."

"Spock promised me he'd protect Uncle Jim when I went away." She seemed to have reached the conclusion that what Sulu was proposing was sound logic. "We can go get them to help." She allowed.

Sulu took another look at her and held out a hand. "You want a piggyback?"

Joanna took his hand reluctantly and climbed onto his back. "Uncle Jim gives the best piggybacks."

"I bet he does," Sulu chuckled. Military maverick, saviour of the Federation and, apparently, a child whisperer.

Joanna fell asleep against his back as Sulu trekked out of the forest and towards the rendezvous site. He hadn't realized just how far he and Jim had ventured before finding Joanna, and was impressed the little girl had gotten so far on her own. She was still asleep when Sulu spotted the others, but woke at McCoy's loud shout of her name.

He was just about able to hand the sleepy child over to her father before McCoy was wrapping her up in his arms, his thick accent all but undecipherable in his relief as he struggled between hugging her tightly or scanning her with a tricorder.

"Thank god." Uhura breathed softly. "We hopped you'd had more luck." They formed a loose semi-circle around father and daughter, the reunion heart-warming and almost unexpected after so much worry. McCoy fussed as Joanna promptly burst into tears now she was safe.

"Where's Jim?" Kevin was the first to ask the question Sulu didn't want to answer, but the words caused a ripple effect, and suddenly he was pinned under some of the most intimidating stares in the galaxy.

He held his ground and waited for McCoy to stand, Joanna still clinging to him, her face wet with tears. "The bad men got him." Joanna said, sniffling against McCoy's shoulder.

"What?" McCoy barked, looking around as if Jim was going to spring out of the walls unharmed and smirking. "What happened?" He turned angry dark eyes on Sulu. "You were supposed to look out for him!"

Sulu didn't point out that there had been frequent times McCoy should have been looking out for Jim and he'd still been hurt – including the time when he'd been abducted right from McCoy's own sickbay.

He turned instead to Spock and spoke as he would if he were delivering a report to a senior officer. "We encountered a group of armed civilians we believed held malicious intent. They were about to discover our location, and since they vastly out numbered us, the captain created a diversion in order to lead them away and allow me to escort our principle from the scene." He took comfort in the words and the way they were delivered. He was also careful not to word it in a way that Joanna, who was still listening, could assign herself any blame.

Spock's face was blank. Only by knowing him as Sulu did was he able to get a read on the myriad of emotions that were swirling in his gaze. "You should have commed us immediately."

"Yes sir," Sulu agreed. "However my primary objective was to get the child to safety. Those were the captain's orders. And," he hesitated, now second guessing himself and hoping Jim wasn't going to pay the price for any bad choices. "The men we encountered weren't hunters, and they weren't soldiers." He thought of them and the boisterous, careless way they had traipsed through the forest. "I didn't believe they were looking to kill the captain. I think they were looking for sport."

To his surprise, Kevin Riley spoke up. "We managed to get an idea of what's happening in the town." He said, drawing everyone's attention. "It's a mess. There is no central organization, and certainly no one policing the streets. It's mostly rival gangs vying for supplies and territory."

"Did you encounter similar on Tarsus?" Spock queried.

Kevin shook his head. "Kodos kept a tight hold on things. There was a lot of violence, a lot of terror, but only if endorsed by him. He kept his soldiers loyal with rations and the lives of their families. Sometimes they'd get carried away and take things out on civilians." His expression clouded, "That's how my parents were killed. They weren't even on Kodos' list; just a couple of his men going power mad and gunning them down because they could. They'd have killed me too if Jim hadn't stopped them." His expression cleared again. "But it was nothing like this. It's like the people here have given up hope of salvation and are determined to take the world with them when they die."

They paused as Riley's words sunk in. That was something they had all learned from Khan, and Jim too in some ways – there was nothing more dangerous than a man with nothing left to lose.

"Well he's alive." McCoy said grimly. He'd set Joanna down and let her cling to his leg while he balanced a PADD in one hand. Jim's obs ran across the screen, several flashing in red and demanding attention. "He's a mess, but he's alive."

Pavel had his own PADD out and was zeroing in on Kirk's signal. "I have him."

They gathered around the PADD, Jim's communicator was still active. If they were on the Enterprise they could just beam him aboard and be done with it. Of course things were never that easy for Jim Kirk. "They seem to have brought him back to town." Spock observed. He looked at Sulu, "For sport, you said?"

Sulu nodded. "They were laughing and joking when we came across them. Not exactly the attitude of people who are afraid for their lives."

"So they are either dangerous enough to be running the show in town and have enough supplies to keep them going…or they're crazy and don't give a damn that everyone is dying around them." McCoy said in his usual abrupt manor. "And they have Jim." His hand absently reached down to cover Joanna's ear. "I'm going to kill that bastard when I get my hands on him."

"I believe, Doctor," Spock said coolly, "that the phrase is 'get in line'."

Sulu wasn't sure who he felt more pity for: Kirk, or the men holding him.


	12. Chapter 12

Seems like we can't decide who is going to get more of an ass-kicking when Spock and McCoy get hold of them! The answer to that question is on its way soon. For now though have a bit of a calm before the storm in which Bones is tormented, Joanna is totally a McCoy, and Riley is a foreshadowing cloud of doom.

Congrats though! We are a third (kinda) of the way through. And technically I have yet to properly whump Jim, so do I get a prize? Someone asked me if I can't give the boy a break... of course not! That's the whole point of these things. Plot, character development...sure, I mean, they are _fun _and all, but I I know I'm here for the whump! :p

* * *

McCoy was torn. Now that Jo was safe in his arms again, just the thought of leaving her made him dizzy with nausea.

Likewise, the thought of Jim out there alone, taking who knew what kind of trauma to an already compromised system was equally distressing.

And since he wasn't about to take his traumatized daughter right back into danger, and he couldn't imagine letting anyone look after Jim instead of him, he felt for all the world like he was being asked to choose between his daughter and his best friend.

How could he do that?

Jim's absence wasn't just distressing him, either. Jo hadn't stopped crying since she'd crawled into his arms, and his heart was raw with the knowledge that nothing he could do would erase the last few days from her memory.

She was underweight, but not malnourished, and not as dehydrated as he might have expected since she spent a day hiding in the forest. There were shallow scrapes on his hands and knees and a few dotted bruises on her shins where she'd clearly run into something solid, but she was, remarkably, otherwise unharmed. Just as Jim had promised she would be.

McCoy was only half paying attention to the plans being discussed around him. His focus was on Jo and the constant stream of tears. She wanted Uncle Jim and couldn't understand why her daddy, who had never before failed to provide her with anything she'd ever wanted, wasn't working one of his usual miracles.

He'd long ago gotten over the spark of jealousy that had flared when Jim and Joanna were together. They could both quite easily forget that he was even in the same room with them sometimes. Jim was Joanna's friend, confidant, co-conspirator, dress up doll, big brother and amazingly cool uncle, all rolled into one. Joanna, McCoy suspected sadly, was Jim's way of ensuring that come hell or high water someone got the childhood he'd never been allowed: one filled with love and safety. And god help him, all either of them had to do to turn McCoy to mush was turn those big eyes on him pleadingly – done in tandem it had a hundred percent success rate.

"Shhhs, sweetheart. It's going to be okay baby, I promise." McCoy soothed, stroking Jo's hair as best he could amidst the tangles.

"Doctor McCoy," McCoy looked up, still holding Joanna close, and was surprised by the unexpected compassion he saw in Spock's unfathomable eyes. "Ensign Riley will be escorting you and your daughter back to the shuttle and overseeing your safety while we attempt to rescue the captain."

Usually, Spock's formal, impersonal way of speaking was a great source of irritation to McCoy. For some odd reason, he found it reassuring in that moment. When Spock set out to do something, he would inevitably find a way to do it - whether that was to accept the blame for his actions and in doing so throw Jim under the bus, or hunt down the man who had murdered his first real friend.

But once again, McCoy was torn. "I should-"

"You should take care of your daughter." Spock said kindly. "Jim would want that. He sacrificed himself to ensure her safety: do not make that effort be in vain."

McCoy couldn't help the way he was thrown back into those hellish moments when they had brought Jim's body to him. Jim had sacrificed himself then as well.

"Just bring him back to me." McCoy said roughly. "I'll patch him back up and we can take it in turns to wring his scrawny neck."

Spock nodded very seriously then crouched down so he was Joanna's height. "I am pleased to see you safely returned to your father."

Joanna's lip trembled but the stubborn tilt to her jaw was an expression McCoy had seen on Jim far too often. Jim might have been the best person McCoy knew, but he sure as hell did not want his daughter growing up to be like him – he wanted her to be safe and happy and innocent: things Jim Kirk never would be.

"You promised you'd look after him for me." Joanna accused Spock, brutally honest as only children could be when they sensed a shortcoming in the adults around them.

McCoy could have sworn Spock's shoulders damn near drooped. "Forgive me." He spoke to Joanna, but McCoy was worried the damn Vulcan was taking this far more personally than he had the right to. "I will endeavor to rectify my failures and return him to your care."

Joanna nodded her acceptance and Spock stood, nodding to McCoy and returning to the other officers.

She had been very protective of Jim while he'd been in hospital, to the point where she'd questioned McCoy on every single thing that he did, refused to let anyone be alone with Jim, and had easily managed to cajole him into things that usually took McCoy hours and a great deal of shouting.

She handled the upset of seeing Jim so ill by doing exactly what her father did – bossing Jim around and fretting. It was how McCoy had always coped with things when he was upset or worried and it was one of the many reasons why he and Jim worked so well: McCoy needed to fuss, and Jim needed an excuse to be taken care of that he could justify internally.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the arrival of Kevin Riley by his side. He forced himself to meet the kid's gaze, an apology on his tongue for the last time they had spoken. Riley smiled sympathetically and shook his head before adopting the same position Spock had taken. "Hi," he said, his voice friendly and soft, "I'm Kevin. You must be Joanna; Jim's told me all about you."

It occurred to McCoy then that there were a few people there that Jo had not met before, Riley included. He scolded himself for not remembering, but Joanna didn't seem all that concerned. She pressed her cheek against McCoy's leg, still clinging to him tightly, and muttered a very quiet hello.

Riley beamed at her, his young face open and nonthreatening. "So I hear you've had a pretty rough couple of days." He said sympathetically. "You must be really brave." Jo shook her head against McCoy's leg and his fists clenched at his side. "I dunno, I'm not sure I'd have been as brave as you."

McCoy was about to tell him to give it up as a lost cause. Sometimes she could be shy, especially when she was tired or upset. Trying to draw her out took effort.

But his little girl _was_ brave, and far bolder than she had ever been before. She raised her head and looked at Riley very seriously. "I had to be," she said, sounding so much older than her tender years, "Uncle Jim told me so."

McCoy saw something very fond and very warm spark in Riley's eyes. "He told me that too, once." Riley informed her quietly. "When I was no bigger than you."

"Were you?"

"Not as much as I wish I'd been," Riley said regretfully. "But it was okay, because Jim took care of me and he was _very_ brave."

Joanna nodded. "He's captain of a starship." She announced proudly. "He and my daddy saved the planet, even though daddy has av-i-o-pho-bia." She sounded the word out phonetically and McCoy made himself a mental note to smack Jim around the head the next time he saw the brat.

Riley did an admirable job of not laughing. "That's pretty impressive. How about you and your daddy come with me to your Uncle Jim's new shuttle and I can tell you some funny stories?"

"About when he was little like me?" Jo asked curiously. Sometimes McCoy wondered if she'd inherited anything from her mother besides a withering glare and her love of pretty things. Cursing himself, he fished out his comm and sent Joce a message, telling her that Jo was safe and they would call as soon as they could.

"Yep." Riley said. McCoy glared at him, not wanting Jo to hear any stories about Tarsus. Riley actually had the nerve to roll his eyes. "I'll tell you some of the stories he used to tell me and my friends. We thought he was a superhero." Riley whispered conspiratorially.

Jo surprised him by leaning closer to Riley and whispering back. "He told me my daddy actually _is_ a superhero and that he only wears his costume on special occasions." She glanced up at McCoy as if still trying to decide if she believed it or not.

Riley did laugh that time and McCoy's eyes burned.

He forgot, sometimes, that while Jim might have been his best friend, for the longest time, McCoy had been Jim's _only_ friend. Jim was so quick to throw himself into harms way that the little things he did sometimes got lost in the middle. Drugging himself to pass his physicals was such a Jim thing to do that the actual reality - Jim _drugged_ himself to take a test he had been banned from taking for _damned good reasons_, then blackmailed an Admiral and did who knows what to secure a Presidential shuttle – never quite sunk in. There had never been anyone in McCoy's life that had shown him the kind of devotion Jim did, and he knew without a shadow of doubt that Jim held him on a pedestal that had only ever been shared by Christopher Pike.

He thought back to the moment Jim had found him after his disastrous attempts at opening a torpedo with Carol Marcus. He'd never seen Jim so openly distressed, and all at the thought of losing McCoy.

He let Joanna lead him back towards the shuttle as she followed Riley, her fear and her trauma set aside for the time being in favor of her curiosity. McCoy recognized it for what it was – the sweet innocence in his daughter that hadn't left her, despite his fears, and he swore to himself that when they got Jim back, he was sitting the damn fool down and telling him what he should have been saying right from the very start.

* * *

Joanna made it only half way through the story of how Jim wrestled a bear – it wasn't a bear, Riley later told him – before she fell asleep on McCoy's knee, clean and healed and wrapped in soft pajamas with piles of blankets covering them both. He kept his fingers running through her tangle free hair, having to remind himself over and over again that she was safe.

Riley handed him a steaming mug of coffee. "Figured you'd want to stay awake until we hear something." He said softly.

McCoy accepted with a grateful nod of thanks. He had his PADD resting on the arm of the couch he and Jo were curled up on and would glance at it occasionally. It told him that Jim was alive, and unconscious, his body reacting to what he deduced was acute trauma from the stun of a phaser. Anything else was just guessing.

"You should stop torturing yourself." Riley said, glancing over at the PADD and taking a seat opposite.

McCoy shrugged. "Might as well know what I'm going to be dealing with."

"That's not what you're doing though, is it?" Riley asked, his gaze sharper and more knowing than McCoy cared for. "You're not looking because you want to be prepared, you're looking to punish yourself for not stopping it. Just like you were when you asked me those questions earlier."

"I was outta line," McCoy said gruffly.

"You were." Riley agreed. "But I get it. Jim does too."

"You didn't hear what I said to him." McCoy said bitterly.

Riley shrugged. "He'll forgive you. I'm sure he'd forgive you pretty much anything."

"That's half the problem." McCoy muttered.

"Still though," Riley pointed again at the PADD. "Nanotech?" He nodded as Riley postulated. "And they weren't destroyed by either the radiation, or Khan's blood…" McCoy had suffered the same terrifying thought when Jim had first dropped into a coma following the transfusion. He'd never had the results either confirmed or denied by tests, but just the possibility that the trackers he'd injected Jim with were playing a part in his violent reaction to the treatment had damn near crippled McCoy with guilt. "So I'm guessing they're there for good then."

"Five year minimum." McCoy nodded.

Riley frowned. "He doesn't know about it?"

"No."

"I'd keep it that way." He advised.

"Why's that?" He already knew that Jim would be pissed when he found out. He'd resigned himself to that before he'd even done it.

Riley stood and lifted McCoy's empty mug. "Because when I said he'd forgive you pretty much anything? I think that could prove to be the exception."


	13. Chapter 13

You're getting this one early because my yoga class has been moved to the afternoon :p If I finish my meetings as planned, hopefully you'll get a chapter of _Fortunate Sons_ today as well :p

Whump Alert, with a side of your standard Winona Warning and Jim's extremely jaded endurance. This one is really rather gruesome, so caution is advised.

* * *

Jim regained consciousness almost all at once as his brain fired back online and started compiling information about his surroundings. Given how bad he felt, he'd either been out drinking with Bones and Gaila and had puked up his spleen at some point during the night, or he was once again stranded up shit creek without a paddle. He kept his eyes closed either way and continued his observations with his other senses.

He lay on his left side, and since it had almost gone numb, he guessed he'd been there for some time. Speaking of numb... he couldn't feel his hands at all. His adrenaline levels started to spike but he kept a stubborn control of his breathing, refusing to panic. Staying as still as he could, he attempted to wiggle his fingers. Nothing. Most likely cause: his hands were bound. Which, given that the dryness in his mouth turned out to be the fault of a cloth gag, seemed a fairly reasonable conclusion to reach. It also seemed to be unlikely the result of a prolonged drinking session with either his best friend, or his girlfriend.

A set of hands suddenly grabbed his arms and hauled him upright, not seeming to care whether he was conscious or not. Jim's head swam, his stomach rolled, and the last few days came crashing back to him in a whirlwind of nausea.

The first time Jim had ever been stunned by a phaser, he had been nine years old and the weapon had been calibrated for an adult. After he'd regained consciousness, it had taken three days for the shock to wear off. It was a sad reflection of his life that those three days held some of the fondest memories of his mom. She'd stayed with him the whole time, stroking his hair when he threw up and spoon-feeding him a chicken and lentil soup that had been his dad's favorite when he was sick. Having her undivided attention as she told him how proud she was, how she was sorry she'd had to do that, he'd been able to believe that maybe she really did love him as much as she did Sam.

The second time he'd ever been stunned, he was ten. That hadn't ended so well.

There had been multiple times since then, and probably a dozen or more had been in training at the Academy. It never stopped being a decidedly unpleasant experience.

Jim gave up the ruse and opened his eyes as he was dragged across the floor. His bare toes brushed cold floor and he scowled. He could understand someone taking his boots - they were damn good boots, as was his jacket which also seemed to be missing - but it was a little harsh to steal a man's socks as well.

He didn't put up a fight as he was dragged. For one, he was a fan of picking his battles when he could, and for another, none of his limbs really felt like cooperating. He caught sight of people around him, some huddled together and clearly scared, others strutting around as if they owned the place.

Eventually they reached their destination. Jim was forced down onto his knees in between a line of others who were bound as he was. There were maybe a dozen of them in total. Mostly men, but some women, and one kid who couldn't have been older than fifteen. They were all in differing stages of shock and trauma. Some of them sobbed, others struggled. The boy wavered where he knelt, clearly having checked out already.

Jim felt his anger rise. He glared defiantly up at the two men who towered above them. They walked up and down the line, assessing the captives at their feet. He'd have kept his insolence up indefinitely if a strong hand hadn't tangled in his hair and forced his head down in a parody of respect.

From that angle, Jim couldn't see what happened on either side of him. He could hear, however, as the two men assessed each of them finally delivering their verdict: left or right.

Jim had no idea what that meant, only that both of the men to his left side had been sent to the right and had begged and screamed in terror at the announcement.

Finally them came to Jim. The hand in his hair jerked his head back and the sudden flare of light overhead made his eyes burn.

They didn't talk to him. They didn't even look him in the eye. As far as they were concerned, he had no worth to them as a person.

One grabbed at the hem of his shirt, lifting it up. Jim snarled and jerked back, only for the hand in his hair to move to his throat, tightening in threat.

The two men in front of him didn't seem perturbed and carried on as if he hadn't moved.

"He's still pretty young." One of them said. "Should be easy enough."

The one with his hand on Jim's shirt poked him hard in the belly before shaking his head. "I don't know," the hand moved to his arms, his shoulders and then his thighs and his ass, "don't think he'd go very far." He crouched down and took Jim's face in his hand. This close, Jim could see neatly trimmed dark hair and calm green eyes. He wasn't old, maybe late thirties, and looked like he belonged at a desk, not in the middle of all this madness. In short, he looked sane, and that instantly put Jim on the high alert. Off balance and with no freedom of movement or even of speech, he could only glare. It made the man's expression twist into curiosity. "I know you from somewhere." He mused. Jim wanted to laugh: he'd sure as hell know Jim by the time they were done. "He's got some spirit in him." The man said, glancing over his shoulder to his companion. "Be a shame to waste it"

His companion shrugged then addressed the man behind Jim. "Left it is."

* * *

'Left' turned out to be little more than a long row of holding cells, and it was down two levels in a turbolift and then being thrown down a final set of stairs. There had been another pair of men waiting for him there. They'd hauled him up and removed his bonds before tossing him unceremoniously into a cell that had reached capacity several bodies ago.

Jim landed with a grunt and quickly rolled off his aching wrists. In a few minutes circulation would return, and he knew from experience that he'd be in for an uncomfortable few hours.

"You okay, kid?" After the violence of his previous encounter, Jim was surprised by the genuine concern he heard. He struggled to his feet and met the gaze of a man dressed in the uniform of local law enforcement.

"Local hospitality sucks." Jim grumbled, his mouth like cotton wool once he managed to unknot the gag.

"Sorry about that. Wasn't always like this. I'm Magistrate Solon. Or I was." Solon approached Jim with an extended hand. Jim looked at it warily and the Magistrate paused. He turned and grabbed one of the water bottles that were propped up by the wall. It was only half full, but he took a swig before he handed it to Jim as it to prove it was safe to drink. Jim accepted gratefully, his fingers fumbling, uncooperative, but took only a single gulp before handing it back. "No, it's fine. Drink, please." Solon refused to take the bottle back. "Water's one thing we've got plenty of. They keep us hydrated at least."

Several of the others laughed bitterly. "Can't have it spoiling the fun." One of them said.

"Thanks." Jim croaked, taking another swill of water. There were at least ten people in the cell with him that he could see, and they all vied for the same floor space. There were four bunks and no other items of furniture. No windows, barred or otherwise, and no lock on the cell door. It was however, Jim noticed, a security system that was run by a computer. And if it was run by a computer, that meant Jim could break it. "I don't suppose anyone could explain what the hell is going on here?"

Solon looked at the others in concern. "You look pretty rough, son. Maybe you should sit down. Rest some. You'll need it."

Jim scowled, pissed and unsettled and really not in the mood to be treated like a child. "How about I decide what I need and you answer my question?"

"Woulda thought that was obvious." Solon frowned at him.

"I'm not very bright." Jim said dryly. "I need things explaining to me."

"Nobody's that dim." Another man said. "So long as they got a set of eyes. Whole damn colony's gone to Hell."

"I'm from out of town." Jim said in frustration. "Humor me. Let's start with the band of crazy upstairs. Who the hell are they?"

Solon didn't answer straight away. Another voice did pipe up, however, and Jim peered around the mass of bodies to see a tall, gangly teenager leaning against the far wall.

"The crazy one's General Tereus." The kid said angrily. "And his brother Atreus. They were Governor Agathon's lead advisors."

"Iolus," Solon warned softly. The boy glared back at him

Governor Agathon was the Federation representative on Cerberus, Jim remembered. It had been his office that had made the distress call. "Were?" Jim asked grimly, already sensing where the kid was going.

Solon sighed. "After the Governor issued a state of emergency, Tereus and Atreus staged a coup. Tereus had the security services in his pocket and Atreus's was the majority landholder after the Governor. They seized control six days ago, just as the panic was setting in. Told the people they could save them."

Iolus propelled himself up from the wall and stalked towards Solon with utter hatred in his eyes. "They said it was his fault! They blamed him, they betrayed him, and then they murdered him!"

Jim looked at the boy closely. He was sixteen maybe, no older. He was bruised, though not badly, but he had a look in his eyes of someone who had seen his whole world ripped apart. "The Governor was your father." Jim said softly. "I'm sorry."

"You're the only one." Iolus snarled at Jim. "No one else did a damn thing to stop them."

"That's not true, Iolus, you know that." Solon tried to soothe. The Magistrate turned back to Jim. "Tereus stirred up the crowd, made them crazy. They held public executions in the square."

Jim couldn't help but shiver. Kodos had done much the same. In those first few hours, when he had made his announcements to the people, he'd managed to incite such fear and hatred in those he had selected to live that many of them turned on the other colonists themselves rather than risk them surviving long enough to threaten the rest of them. Jim had been standing right next to him when he'd done it and he'd done nothing but watch in horror as the bloodshed had begun. When Kodos had finally taken him away, he'd sat Jim down and gently explained that _this_ was why people needed leaders like Kodos, like _Jim_, to look after them. Society was, he had said, just a charade to cover the savagery.

"I'm sorry." Jim said again

Solon shrugged in defeat. "No point. Tereus killed the Governor before he could send out a call for interstellar aid and he now has control of all communications. No one knows what's happening here, and there's no way of telling them. Heard them say someone tried yesterday, but the transmission never reached its destination."

Jim didn't say anything.

That was a lie. Someone _had_ sent a distress call four days ago. Two days after the Governor had been murdered. And Joanna had called them from her school. He felt cold inside when he realized that the men who had chased her _had_ been looking for her. Whether they knew the transmission had been from a child, or someone calling with more knowledge they clearly believed that for the time being, no one from the Federation knew what was happening.

On the one hand, that gave Jim an advantage – on the other, when aid works did start arriving, they would be completely unprepared. He needed to get out and regroup with his crew.

"Okay, so what's with this?" He waved his hand around at the cells, still not understanding why he was being held captive when it would have been so much easier to kill him.

The men in the cell looked at him grimly. "We're the lucky ones." Solon said in a voice that made it clear he didn't believe it. "Everyone who resists Tereus and his brother are rounded up and brought here. This used to be the seat of government, and now…" he shook his head sadly. "They line us up, then split us up."

"Left or right." Jim frowned. "And we're left. What does that mean?"

"Mean's what he said." A large, heavily scarred man said. He looked like he'd seen the wrong side of a fight, and the others were giving him more space than they could afford to in such close quarters. "We get to live. If we want it. If we fight for it. You'll find out soon enough."

Jim got the suspicion he already knew what was coming. "And that makes us lucky?"

"Sure kid." Solon slumped down against the wall, defeat rolling off him in waves. "Tereus told the people he could save them. And he keeps them in line with two things: food, and entertainment. We're the entertainment. Wanna guess what those on the right end up being?"

Jim sat himself down carefully against the cell door, each move careful and precise. He didn't say anything, and he was fairly sure his face didn't betray anything either.

He leaned his head back against the door and took a long, slow breath in between his teeth.

And silently, in the depths of his own mind where no one could ever see it, Jim wrapped his arms around himself and started to rock back and forth.

He'd thought that for Joanna, for Bones, that he could do this.

He was wrong.


	14. Chapter 14

Standard warnings remain. This chapter is more graphic than I usually am when it comes to violence so please read with caution. It's Spock's turn to get tortured a bit (and Jim, but nothing new there).

* * *

It was fascinating, in a morbid way, to witness just how quickly society had crumbled. Spock had of course heard of such times in Earth's history when humans would do and act in ways both irrational and inhumane when motivated by fear and hostility. There had been a considerable amount of required reading on the subject, both as a student on Vulcan and as a cadet at the Academy studying diplomacy and culture. Tarsus IV had been given its own module: Spock believed that in ten years time, Cerberus would too.

During their reconnaissance of the building Jim was currently being held in, Spock had witnessed men, women and children rob and assault one another for various possessions. A short while ago crowds had started to pour into the square, all fighting viciously to get to the front of a fenced off clearing where rows of guards stood by officials who handed out ladles filled with steaming hot soups and stews.

Most of the crowd, once they had fought for their food, quickly departed, not wishing to spend a moment longer in such hostile space.

Many stayed, however, and it was among them that Spock and the others positioned themselves, all looking for the best way into the building that had once been the center of the city's governing party. The Justice Building was grand and imposing, even more so when surrounded by armed men.

"Oh god." It was Nyota's sharp inhalation that drew Spock's attention back to the clearing. The guards had brought six men, bound and blindfolded out from the Justice Building. They were all bare footed and in varying states of disarray, but there was no mistaking the stubborn set to Jim Kirk's shoulders, nor the angry set to his mouth. Spock was pleased to see that the guard who stood behind Jim, though heavily armed, was sporting a painful looking black eye.

"Orders, Commander?" Sulu sounded uncharacteristically angry. He was positioned closer, almost at the edge of the fencing, and had an unrestricted view of proceedings.

The words physically hurt Spock to say. "Hold your positions."

There was a spatter of foul language from Scott, but his order was obeyed. They waited, and they watched, uncertain as to their captain's fate as the two men furthest from Jim were unbound and bullied towards the center of the clearing by a pair of sneering guards.

Though Spock had feared they had been about to witness a public execution, his anger and his concern did not fade when it became clear what was expected of the prisoners.

A single blade was tossed on to the ground between them, and on a roar of approval from the crowd, they fought.

It was barbarism at its lowest level. The prisoners both wore the same uniform of office – they knew each other, perhaps were once friends, but in the dirt and the dust of the ground between them, they grappled like wild dogs for the upper hand.

"Spock." Nyota appealed in his ear. "We can't just stand by and watch this."

"Then do not watch," Spock advised her, his own tension making his response cooler and more impersonal than he desired. "We have no hope of overpowering such a large number of armed personnel without risking the civilian population."

"The 'civilian population' are cheering this madness on." Scott said, his voice serious and tense with disgust. "I say tough bloody luck to em."

"I agree." Sulu added.

Spock stopped watching the gruesome contest, his eyes settling on Jim. "We cannot guarantee the captain's safety while he is still bound thus." Certainly not when there was a weapon pointed at the back of his head.

"So we're going to watch him fight for his life?" He could hear Nyota's unhappiness and felt no victory at having to be the one to put it there. "You're just going to order us to stand here and do nothing?" He knew her well enough to know that the words she spoke came from a place of fear and not condemnation. They had both grown closer to Jim in the time of his convalesce, and he knew Nyota's ire was dangerous when her protective nature was engaged.

"You speak as though I have no desire to do otherwise." Spock said evenly. "This is not the case. It is, unfortunately, merely our best hope to recover Jim without endangering his life."

"I think the lad's life is going to be a wee more than 'in danger' if he has to bloody fight for it." Scott pointed out.

"He vill vin though, no?" Chekov asked hesitantly.

"O'course he will lad." Scott was quick to reassure him. "He's Jim Kirk."

Spock said nothing. Perhaps only Doctor McCoy shared his knowledge of just how far from fit and healthy Jim really was. He was not the man who had jumped off a drill for Sulu, or who taught Chekov Krav Maga during rec periods. He was not even the man who had hurtled himself through space in order to seize control of an enemy ship with Scott.

The indomitable will of James Kirk lived on, but his body still had a great deal of catching up to do. While he would no doubt fight with every reserve he possessed, his opponent would have equal desire to live, and he would not likely be as frail.

Spock foolishly hoped that the fight would not be to the death, but they were quashed when the first of the combatants drove his opponent to the ground, shattering his skull in the process.

After such brutal fighting, he was surprised then when the victor began to weep.

The crowd cheered for him, but he did not seem to care. As he was escorted back into the Justice Building, he needed to be restrained when the body of his victim was collected for removal.

"Don't you touch him you bastards!" His screams were lost in the uproar as the event's orchestrator worked them into a frenzy once more.

Spock's eyes returned to Jim. It was not yet his turn, and trying to read his expression was impossible. Unlike one of the men who was being released to fight, Jim had not given way to begging or crying. His jaw was set, his shoulders proud.

The second fight was over quickly and the crowd began to get agitated.

It was Jim's turn, and Spock had no idea what he was supposed to do. It had taken him a long time to trust Jim implicitly in all things, but his captain had certainly proved himself worthy of it many times now. He found himself strangely sympathetic with McCoy – how did you go about protecting a man who spared no thought to his own life but would do everything in his power to help others?

Should he just trust in Jim's innate ability to survive and continue as planned, rescuing him from the compound once the crowd had dissipated? Or did he risk the lives of everyone Spock himself considered dear on what would most likely be a fruitless effort?

He did not have the answer, and though logic dictated he stay his hand and wait the situation out, he rebelled against the knowledge that once again Jim would suffer for his inability to act.

The brutal killings had silenced Jim's crew, though Spock knew them well enough by now to picture their responses. He was glad McCoy was not present, both for the lack of distraction his anger would have created, and because he wished to spare the man the pain he himself was experiencing.

Besides, he feared that he would not have been able to stop McCoy from interfering, and would most likely have assisted in the process.

As they dragged Jim towards the center of the clearing, unfastening his bonds as they moved, Spock caught a glimpse of his opponent.

The initial pang of relief was quickly overwhelmed by disgust. The latest enemy Jim needed to overcome was an underfeed teenage boy who shook with fear.

Jim's expression mirrored Spock's own once the blindfold was removed and he saw what they were expecting him to do.

Fight and kill, or die himself.

So in true Jim Kirk fashion, he did neither.

Jim was refusing to fight.

The youth who had been set to face him stood stock still and trembled in fear.

The guard behind Jim brought the butt of his phaser down against the back of his head, much as Khan had done, and Spock's pulse skyrocketed.

"Spock!" Nyota whispered pleadingly.

Jim went down with a grunt of pain and rather explicit curse. Spock's fists clenched, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hands. The pain that flared helped him see through the haze of cold fury that was waiting to drown him.

Quite apart from the contemptible behavior that he had witnessed already, did these people have any idea who it was they were treating so appallingly? Did they have any idea what Jim Kirk had done for them?

A second blow followed once Jim was on the ground. They were clearly attempting to motivate him.

They did not know James Kirk. If he did not wish to do something, there was little point even trying to sway him. Spock had learned that the hard way.

After several moments of trying to change Jim's stance, the teen was dragged back into the building, almost sobbing with relief.

Jim, however, was dragged forwards to the edge of the fencing keeping them separated from the crowd. His shirt was removed and his wrists bound to the metal post.

Spock questioned their motives for doing so until one of the guards removed his belt and raised it in the air.

He jerked in shock and anger even as Jim did. When the second blow came, Jim handled it better than Spock.

Spock was not watching the weapon fall, nor was he looking at the damage it created as it made contact. His eyes were on Jim's face, or what little he could see of it. Jim had rested his forehead against his bound wrists. His eyes were closed and his lips slightly parted as he took long, slow breaths in a rhythm he seemed determined to keep.

It was an action, Spock found, to be altogether more disturbing than the beating Jim was receiving.

It spoke of far too much familiarity with such levels of torment. Jim's pain tolerance was well documented, his endurance almost as legendary as his deeds. But there was a level of acceptance to Jim's poise that was out of place with the man who refused to give in, even to death. Spock had expected Jim to fight, or swear, to mutiny against such wrong doings with the level of vitality and passion he showed everything else in his life.

But he did not. He continued to breath in slow, steady patterns.

And he endured quietly.

How many times had Jim been subject to such treatment? How much pain did one have to suffer before he could take such brutal abuse with barely a sound?

It seemed those who witnessed Jim's torture were more affected by it than Jim was himself.

Spock knew he was.

McCoy's voice suddenly burst into his ear, low and harsh with worry. "What in the blazes is happening?" He snarled. "His obs just went crazy." Spock could not speak. One of the blows had clearly made contact with an open wound on Jim's back. He gasped, and though the sound of the crowd and the distance between them made it an impossibility, Spock could have sworn it rang out louder than a scream.

"Spock!" McCoy hissed. He was clearly making an attempt not to raise his voice, most likely in deference to his daughter. "Damnit man, what is happening?"

"Nothing good." Sulu said into the comm. grimly.

The longer the beating continued, the less Jim was able to contain his cries of pain. Spock barely heard Nyota's choked sob or Scott's muttered curses, almost transfixed by the events up ahead.

He could not comprehend how someone could willingly inflict such deliberate pain. It was beyond his ability to compute and process, and in that moment he felt terribly young and naïve to have seen so much of the Universe and fail to understand this principle value of one of its species.

Jim's pattern of breathing faltered and as he struggled to regain it, Spock caught a glimpse of his face.

He was moving through the crowd before he realized it.

Had he not sworn to Jim that no one would be allowed to hurt him again? Had he not promised Joanna McCoy that he would return her beloved Uncle to her unharmed?

Had he not failed Jim too many times already?

He could dimply hear several voices calling out his name but paid them no attention as Jim finally gave voice to his pain and the crowd was buoyed from morbid fascination back to their bloodlust.

Sulu reached him first, not hesitating or attempting to slow him as most humans would when facing one of their own, but going directly for the knees. It surprised Spock and gave Sulu the time he needed before Scott and Chekov grabbed a hold of an arm each.

"You will release me." Spock said as calmly as he could, the few inches he had on Sulu serving him well as he glared down at him in anger.

Sulu glared right back. "No damn way, sir." He said professionally. "You trying to get yourself killed, or just the captain?"

Jim screamed and they all flinched. Bodies pressed around them, oblivious to what was happening in their midst. The sound pushed Spock forwards, dragging both Scott and Chekov several paces. He could have dragged them all the way to Jim if he needed to, but paused as the one person he would not go through suddenly pushed into his path.

Nyota was unashamed of her emotions, always. Her tears rolled down her cheeks without embarrassment. Spock had always endeavored to be careful with her feelings when they were so close to the surface. He had seen his father harm his mother all too often with careless misunderstanding or word and he had sworn he would not be so caviler.

He would not move her physically, nor would he berate her verbally. Instead he appealed to her with all the emotion he himself did not understand. "Nyota, please." He said.

The beating suddenly stopped and Jim slumped forwards, head against his hands and his chest heaving. Spock prayed it was over.

"Has he learned his lesson?" The crowd was asked.

Spock wished to personally maim all those who responded negatively.

The man behind Jim's suffering pressed his hand to Jim's back. "Looks pretty tender," he joked, waving someone over and accepting a small container of white powder. It looked harmless. Spock feared otherwise. "Needs some seasoning, perhaps."

He rubbed a handful of the powder across Jim's shoulders.

Jim's responding scream had all three of the men holding him back straining to continue doing so.

A further application of the white powder was made. Jim cried out again, then fell silent.

"Doctor?" He whispered fearfully to the comm.

"He's still alive." McCoy said grimly. "He's unconscious. What the _hell is happening, Spock?" _ McCoy snarled.

Spock still had no words.

With their source of entertainment no longer performing for them, the crowd was dismissed. They milled around for only moments, afraid to become the targets for the suddenly bored looking guards. As Spock had witnessed many of them tormenting civilians already, he could understand their desire not to linger once their presence was not required.

Sulu all but dragged Spock and the others into the shadow of a building close by where they could still see Jim, who seemed to have been abandoned where he had lost consciousness.

"Just a little while longer." Sulu told them all, taking control from Spock, who had precious little of it to spare. "They'll thin out once they start getting bored and tired."

"Then what?" Scott's face was pale, matching the shaken look he wore.

It was Nyota who spoke as she slid her hand into Spock's anchoring him. "Then we get Jim back."

"And the guards?" Scott asked.

Spock squeezed Nyota's hand as tight as he dared. "They will not stop us." He vowed lethally.

He would kill them all himself if he had to.


	15. Chapter 15

So after the major owwie of the last chapter (which you all seemed to enjoy :p) please have a large dose of fluffy comfort. It might, in fact, be the fluffiest, comfortiest, just plain nicest I have ever been to Jim. Too bad he's unconscious. Whoops.

(To the reviewer who asked, obs is short for observations. It's doctor short hand for all the different info they collect on a patient based on blood tests etc. Since Bones has a direct hotline to Jim's whacky body, he's got all that on tap. Speaking of which, isn't it about time I handled that little plot point….)

* * *

When they finally moved, they did so with lightening precision and a swift ruthlessness that Jim Kirk would have been proud of.

An hour after the crowd had dissipated, the guards predictably began to roam. They expected no resistance from their unconscious prisoner and the civilian population were clearly terrified of their retribution.

Eventually, when there were only half a dozen of them remaining, Jim's crew moved in.

Scott, Sulu, Spock and Chekov took care of the guards. Nyota ran straight for Jim.

He was still unconscious. Bare chested in the chill of the night, his skin was cool to the touch and he shivered beneath her hands as she checked for a pulse and then began to struggle with the restraints keeping him slumped against the fence.

Her fingers fumbled awkwardly until Scott moved to her side and used a small laser cutter to make light work of the job.

Jim slumped forwards as soon as he was free of the bounds. Nyota grabbed him as gently as she could, scared to touch his back for fear of hurting him further.

They hung in limbo, not sure how best to move Jim when he was so badly injured, until Spock was at their side, carefully easing Jim over his shoulder and baring his weight with little effort.

"Time to go." Sulu said, covering their exit. Around them, the men who had watched Jim's torment wish such callous disregard lay unconscious in the dirt.

Nyota glanced back at the imposing Justice Building and swore that she would return and bring the whole building to rubble if it was the last thing she ever did. Then, collecting herself, she picked herself up and ran, keeping time with the others as they worked to get Jim back to safety and a doctor who could fix him.

* * *

"Put him down here." McCoy had clearly made an attempt to create some kind of triage center in the shuttle's private suite. The small but comfortable looking bed had been stripped down to just the sheets and a single pillow while all of McCoy's considerable selection of supplies had been set out in easy reach.

Nyota and Sulu helped Spock gently ease Jim down onto the bed, careful not to brush his back with either their hands or the sheets. Nyota moved the pillow so it cradled his head better and brushed her fingers through Jim's hair in the same movement.

McCoy moved around her to get a better look at Jim's condition and went very pale. "Out," he barked at them as they hovered uncertainly around Jim's bedside. "All of you, out. You too, Spock." McCoy hustled them out, glaring at Spock when he tried to protest. Nyota moved to follow them but McCoy caught her arm. "Not you."

She looked at him in question but did not argue. In all honesty, she wanted to stay with Jim.

"What should I do?"

McCoy directed her to the head of the bed and she tentatively crawled up to rest at the headboard. Jim's head was resting close to her knee and under McCoy's direction, she took Jim's hands in her own. His wrists were ringed with heavy bruises and thinner than she had ever noticed, which was something she could have said about the lot of him. Aside from the numerous times she'd seen him in various states of undress with Gaila, she'd also spent several hours pinned against him after they had been caught in an explosion. He had never been bulky, but he had always been broad in the shoulders and well defined. Jim Kirk was a physically attractive man, and of course he knew it and used it in much the same way he did those blue eyes of his. She didn't like what it said about his health - mental as well as physical - that he'd not gained back any of the mass he'd lost while in hospital.

"This isn't going to be fun for him." McCoy said gruffly. "He's not going to lay still. You need to talk to him. Keep him calm." She nodded, lacing her fingers with Jim's. McCoy cleaned his hands with sterilizing agent and then without turning directed Spock to hand him a length of cloth and water. Nyota hadn't even realized that Spock had remained, but "you might as well be useful," the Doctor grumbled.

"Would I not be better served in Nyota's position?" Spock queried once he handed over the items McCoy had requested.

"Because you're stronger?" McCoy gave him a dirty look. Spock nodded. "He's going to wake up in serious pain with no idea where he is...and you want to hold him down?"

Spock inclined his head in acceptance of McCoy's judgement. "Forgive me." He said softly. "I did not think."

McCoy had started the long job of cleaning the wounds that littered Jim's back. Up close, Nyota had the clearest view of them so far. They were...vile. Heavy black and blue bruises stretched from the base of his neck all the way down to his lower back, though the majority of the damage was concentrated on his shoulders which were a mess of inter-crossed welts. Some were shallow and bled only a little, while others were deeper and looked agonizingly painful.

McCoy had started with the deepest of the wounds first, carefully cleaning each one. The process was slow and tedious, and throughout it Jim whimpered and stirred, his face twisted in discomfort even when she kept up a constant flow of words in as many languages as she knew Jim understood. Soft, soothing sentences that she crafted for the explicit purpose of keeping Jim calm.

It did little good. Jim seemed to be trapped on the edge of consciousness, not strong enough to break free, but too stubborn to let himself drift peacefully.

"Allow me." She looked up in surprise as a large hand closed over both of theirs. Instantly she felt the soothing embrace of Spock's mind against her own. It wasn't a meld,he would never do so without Jim's consent, but she felt him draw upon all the emotions she wished to convey and direct them towards Jim, creating a blanket of comfort and safety and warmth with his own strong, steady, reassuring presence casting a protective net around them all.

Jim tensed for just a moment, clearly unsure how to process so much positivity directed at him. Then it felt like an invisible wall broke. Something small and hesitant brushed against her mind, clearly fearful of either her rejection or her anger. Nyota had no psychic abilities of her own and nor did Jim, she suspected. It was only Spock's connection between them all that allowed her to wrap all the affection she felt for Jim around him like a blanket.

And Jim latched on to it greedily, clinging to Spock's protectiveness and her love.

"Oh no, you leave me out of your Vulcan voodoo!" She heard McCoy protest, but a moment later there was a forth presence between them, curious despite itself. She could feel Jim's delight at McCoy's inclusion and a moment later she was back in reality and Jim was resting peacefully against her. She released the hand that was not sandwiched between Spock's own, and stroked Jim's hair gently. McCoy gaped at Spock, his hands hovering over Jim's back as he was stunned to silence. Nyota waited for him to speak, but to her surprise he said nothing and returned to his task.

Spock stayed where he was, with one hand around both her own and Jim's, passing McCoy what he required with the other.

Eventually Jim's back was clean and disinfected. McCoy then prepped the surface of his skin and fired up the small regen unit he had brought. For almost an hour, he worked in silence. Every time Jim showed signs of either discomfort or waking, Nyota and Spock soothed him back under.

Finally McCoy set the unit down. Jim's back was still heavily bruised, but the worst of the open wounds were now all but sealed over. He applied a final, flimsy layer of film across Jim's back that would trigger his body's sluggish healing process.

Spock finally released their hands and took several small steps back in order to regain some semblance of control. "This is not the first time he has been beaten thus." Spock remarked.

McCoy had cleaned his hands once more before dragging the sheets back on to the bed and pulling them up to Jim's waist.

Nyota had shared Spock's conclusion. Jim was brave, often foolishly so, but it hadn't been courage that had pulled him through this time, but something far more sinister.

McCoy had chosen not to answer. Instead he sat himself down on Jim's other side, exhaustion and stress lining his face.

Sensing that he wasn't being shot down by the silence, Spock continued. "He inferred that his uncle caused him physical harm on occasion."

Nyota continued to card her fingers through Jim's hair, her eyes on McCoy. Eventually the doctor shrugged. "You know what Jim told me once? That his uncle 'smacked him around a bit' when he was a kid. Like it wasn't all that bad. The bastard's serving a ten year jail sentence for 'smacking him around a bit' so severely that even when Jim refused to testify they were able to nail him to the damn cross."

Her breath hitched and her fingers stilled in Jim's hair. "He's still serving it?" She tried to follow the time scale and frowned.

"They tagged on another five years for some shit he got up to behind bars." McCoy shrugged. "Don't really care. He should stay and rot there but he's up for parole in eighteen months."

"You do not seem all that concerned that he will be granted his freedom." Spock commented. Nyota had simply gone cold at the thought of anyone who had hurt Jim being allowed back into society.

McCoy smiled nastily. "Jim's got some friends in very high places. He's got some in real low ones as well. Might seem like half the galaxy's out to get him, but the other half are just as ready to go to bat for him. If that asshole is lucky enough to see the sky again, he sure as hell won't be around to appreciate it for long."

Nyota could imagine that. She already knew Spock would kill for Jim and had no problems seeing McCoy do the same.

Hell, she wasn't convinced she would be merciful herself.

They lapsed into silence once more. It was unbroken for several minutes, then Sulu appeared in the doorway. "How is he?"

"He'll be good as new and ready to get the shit kicked out of him all over again in no time." McCoy said bitterly.

Sulu was wise enough not to respond. Instead he turned to Spock. "Sir, we're getting word from the _Peer Gynt_ that they are taking some unusual hails. Our sensors are picking up several ships in the area but they are unmarked and I was reluctant to give away our position without further information."

Spock was immediately moving towards him. "Thank you for notifying me." He followed Sulu up to the main deck.

The door closed behind him, leaving Nyota and McCoy alone with Jim.

"You should get some rest," McCoy told her. "I've got the feeling that we're not going anywhere soon."

"How is Joanna?" She asked instead, feeling guilty for being so distracted that she hadn't already asked.

A smile touched McCoy's lips. "She'll be okay thanks to this idiot." He said with a fond squeeze of Jim's hand. "Although she'll cry all over him when he wakes up and it'll serve him right, the bastard."

Even before she'd considered them her friends, she'd known that Jim and McCoy had rather strange ways of showing how they cared about each other. Insults and rudeness seemed to be their standard point of reference, though god help anyone who crossed the other in their hearing.

"You should go spend time with her." She said softly. "I'll stay with Jim." McCoy looked torn. "We're just going to nap." She promised. "And when he wakes up I'll call you. Neither of you are alone any more. Let us help you both."

McCoy reluctantly agreed. "I'll check up on you in an hour. Call me if you need anything."

She smiled and promised she would.

Alone with Jim, she shifted until she was in a slightly more comfortable position and rested her head besides his. "Really Kirk," she chided in a soft voice, "the lengths you'd go to get me in bed."

With her fingers still curled in Jim's so she would wake as soon as he started to, Nyota did her best to sleep.

* * *

"You know, I think it's terribly unfair that you've got all your clothes on and I'm here in my pants."

Nyota opened her eyes and found herself only an inch away from Jim's face. He was awake, his eyes shadowed with pain, but the small smile on his lips did nothing to reassure her. She'd seen him smile though so much already. "I'm having to try really hard not to hit you right now, Kirk. And I don't hit cripples."

"Ouch." Jim's joking wince became real as he jarred his back. Instantly Nyota was moving to settle him down.

"Try not to undo McCoy's handiwork before he's even seen you." She scolded.

Jim looked around. "Where is Bones? While I have to admit you're a far lovelier face to wake up to, when I come round feeling like I've been boxing with the crew of an Orion frigate ship, he's usually hovering somewhere."

"He's with Jo," Nyota soothed. "I'll call him."

He grabbed her hand before she could reach for the comm. "Is she okay?" He asked, his face lined with worry.

"She's fine." Nyota calmed him. "Missing her Uncle Jim terribly and giving us all a hard time for letting you get your ass handed to you." Jim had always joked off his hurts and a part of her expected him to do so again. She was dismayed then when instead of smiling he lay his head back down on the pillow despondently. "Are you alright?" She asked uselessly. "I'm sorry we couldn't stop it. We were scared they'd kill you if we tried, but we never should have let them hurt you. I'm so sorry, Jim." She knew she was babbling from the way Jim frowned at her.

"You saw that?" She nodded, angrily holding back tears when she remembered how stoically he'd taken the beating. Jim sighed. "I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" She asked incredulously. "What the hell do you have to be sorry about?"

"You shouldn't have had to see that. It can't have been easy for you."

"A whole lot easier than it must have been for you!"

"I've had worse." Jim shrugged and then grimaced. He tried to sit up, batting her hands away when she attempted to stop him. "Please tell me you managed to rescue my shirt as well."

Nyota gaped at him, unable to comprehend how blasé he was being about the whole situation. "You've had worse."

Jim shot her a look as if to say 'well duh' and continued to try untangle himself from the sheets.

Nyota grabbed for the comm. McCoy had far more experience at dealing with a belligerent Jim Kirk.

She scolded herself for sleeping instead of waiting Jim out. Perhaps if she'd have caught him when he woke he'd not have had the time to fortify his defenses and she'd have been able to get beyond them. As it was, she found it hard to begrudge him them.

She climbed off the bed and watched uncertainly as Jim hunted for something to wear.

McCoy came running as soon as he was called. "Why the hell are you out of bed?" He demanded of Jim before turning to Nyota. "Why is he out of bed?"

She shrugged helplessly. What was she supposed to do, keep him there by force?

"Bones, where's my shirt?" Jim frowned at him as he rooted through McCoy's bag.

"Dead, Jim. Your shirt is dead. And you'll be joining it if you don't get back in bed, you reckless idiot."

"That's okay, I'll borrow one of yours." Jim ignored him.

"The hell you will." McCoy grabbed his bag from Jim's hands and glared at him. "Nothing is covering that back of yours until it stops looking like something from Pollock's red phase."

Jim rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad."

"Because your many years as a medical professional say so?" McCoy snapped, clearly losing his grasp on his patience. "I'm serious, Jim. You get your ass back in that bed now, or I'll sedate you into next week." Nyota wasn't sure which would win out – they were both as stubborn as one another and neither knew how to pull their punches. Then Jim swayed violently on the spot, forcing McCoy to drop the PADD he'd been carrying to catch him before he fell. "Now will you listen to me you impossible brat?"

"Bones." Jim pleaded, clutching at the doctor's arms.

McCoy shook his head and all but carried Jim back to the bed. Nyota scrambled to pull the sheets back.

Jim, however, had reached down to retrieve McCoy's fallen PADD, his fingers curling around the edges as he clutched at McCoy with his other hand.

"Jim-" McCoy quickly pulled the PADD from Jim's grasp, but clearly it was too late. Jim looked up at him, a look of such pained confusion on his face that Nyota wondered what he could possibly have seen that would have been enough to crack that solid wall he'd built.

"Bones…what was that?"


	16. Chapter 16

So this might actually have been one of the most difficult chapters I've ever written. I'm also posting a little early because I have been sitting on it for MONTHS and I can't deal with it any more. :p I say this because I think you guys might be pretty torn about this chapter and while I'm usually one to just let the story speak for itself, I will just say that Jim and Bones are coming at this from _completely_ different places.

* * *

"Bones, what was that?"

McCoy wasn't ready for this. He'd just cleaned Jim up after someone had made a damn good attempt at stripping the skin from his back, and, as always when he had just patched Jim up from deliberate hurt, he felt raw and off balance.

He wasn't ready.

Neither was Jim. He'd just been tortured, for the love of god. He needed rest and nourishment and as little stress as possible.

But the problem with having a friend as uniquely intelligent as Jim was that his eidetic memory was matched only by the speed in which he absorbed information. He could, and had, won a fair few drunken bets just by glancing at a file and reciting it off verbatim. While Jim had worked his ass off on practicals and coursework at the Academy, he'd never once revised for exams, much to McCoy's eternal disgust.

So though he'd only had a few seconds to glance at the information in front of him, there was no chance Jim didn't know exactly what he'd been looking at. In a few more seconds, he'd put two and two together, realize that the live stream of data wasn't coming from a biobed or a monitor, and that big goddamn brain of his would arrive at the most logical conclusion.

Sure enough, "You put a remote tag on me?" Jim snarled.

McCoy could lie, could try and deny it, but now Jim had the idea in his head there would be no stopping him from finding out the truth. The best option he had was to own up to his actions. He tried to remember all the righteous reasons he'd done it for, and drew on them.

"Nano transmitters." He said. "Fused to your genetic sequence."

Jim stared at him in complete disbelief. McCoy braced himself for the shouting. "You're fucking joking, right?"

"Serious as a bad case of Andorian shingles."

Jim looked stunned and genuinely lost for words.

"Leonard was only trying to help, Jim." McCoy flinched at the sound of Uhura's voice. He'd forgotten she was there still, to be honest.

Jim clearly had too, for his head snapped around, incredulity etched on his features. "You knew?" He snarled. She shot McCoy an apologetic frown before quietly excusing herself. Jim laughed in disbelief. "So aside from breaking just about every medical code of conduct there is, you've managed to completely compromise my command as well. Nicely done, Doc."

"It's not like you gave me any other choice, Jim!" McCoy cried feeling backed into a corner by his own guilt. "You clearly don't trust me enough to let me help you and I'm sure as hell not just going to sit back and watch you kill yourself because you're too damn stubborn to ask for it."

"Oh, so this is my fault?" Jim said, his voice dangerously low.

McCoy cringed. The ground he was on was getting thinner and thinner by the minute. "That's not what I said-"

"It's what you meant though, right?" Jim said venomously. "I've not changed, Bones. So what, it got too much like hard work for you?" Jim's shoulders slumped and the anger bled from his voice. "I guess you'd already injected me with the blood of a deranged mass murderer, what's a little nanotech after that?" He knew Jim lashed out when he felt threatened, but it was harder than he expected to let the mention of Khan slide without comment. Jim had no idea how dark those two weeks had been before he finally gained consciousness. When it came to medical malpractice, injecting Jim with the nanotech was the least of his sins.

McCoy hesitated, knowing that the only thing worse than telling Jim the truth now would be lying and him finding out later. "It wasn't then." He admitted quietly.

Jim looked confused. "Then when? It's not like I've been..." he pinned McCoy with such an uncertain look that all the reasons he'd had to justify what he'd done seemed utterly meaningless. "How long?"

"Jim, please-" McCoy reached for him, to grasp his arm or his shoulder or one of the hundreds of other little touches they gave each other without conscious thought.

Jim pulled back sharply, the uncertainty bleeding into hurt. "How long?" He asked again, even softer this time. McCoy had preferred it when he was shouting.

"After your appendix burst." McCoy said quietly.

"Ten months." Jim calculated, his voice flat. "You've had these _things_ in me for almost a year and you never told me?"

"I'm not sorry, Jim." McCoy said as gently as he could. "And you can be as angry with me as you like, I deserve it, but damnit what else was I supposed to do? You were in pain for days and you never came to me. You said nothing at all until you damn near killed yourself." They'd come so close to losing him to something as mundane as appendicitis of all things, all because Jim had refused to ask for help.

Jim turned and ran his hand through his already untidy hair. "_Angry with you_...you think this is anger?" He asked. McCoy frowned. He was missing something here, something vital.

"Isn't it?"

Jim shook his head, looking lost and off balance, so out of control and uncertain that McCoy could scarcely believe his actions had been the cause. "I'm not angry."

"Okay," McCoy said hesitantly.

Jim sat down on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap. McCoy waited, the ball in Jim's court. "I want them out." Jim said eventually, asking for the one thing McCoy couldn't do.

"I can't."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can't." McCoy said. "They'll decompose naturally in a couple of years, but until then..."

Jim flinched at the time scale, still not meeting McCoy's eyes. The way he sat, huddled in on himself, was agonizing to witness and just highlighted once more how far from okay Jim really was. This had come at the worst possible time. Jim had never recovered from what had happened with his brother and the hits hadn't stopped. McCoy had hopped he'd have had time to regain some equilibrium in the last few weeks, but clearly any ground he'd gained had been lost the moment word had reached them from Cerberus.

"So you can't get rid of them?"

"I'm sorry, Jim." And for the first time, he really was. He'd been able to justify his actions in the face of what he'd have thought would have been anger and stubbornness, but this quiet hurt was something he never wished to be the cause of. "I'm the only one with the data feed. I won't access it again if you really don't want me to." And for all the good it had done him. It wasn't like knowing had ever actually stopped any of it from happening.

Jim shrugged dejectedly. "Do whatever you like. It's not like I have any choice."

McCoy swallowed painfully. "You have a choice, Jim." In all the hundreds of times he'd imagined this conversation since he had made the choice to go ahead with the implant, this had never been the way he had thought it would go.

"Do I? Since when have you ever listened to me before when I've told you I don't want something?"

"That's different." McCoy said, appalled at the thought. Sure, Jim always fought him when it came to his own health and doing what was good for him, but that was just Jim being stubborn, surely?

Jim looked up at him, a challenge in his eyes. "Is it? Or are you just going to wait until I'm unconscious and can't protest before you make your next decisions about my life?"

"I'm your _doctor_, Jim. Believe it or not, I do sometimes know what is best for you."

"That doesn't give you the right to just do it!" Jim cried out, his voice rising again. "You don't get to do whatever the hell you want to me just because you can or you think you should! And it sure as hell doesn't mean you get to lie to me about it!"

"Jim please," McCoy said desperately. "I _never_ did this to hurt you. After everything we've been through, you understand that, surely? You're my brother. I love you, for christsake! So damn much that I couldn't deal with a world without you in it." He was under no illusions to the fact that if he'd not been able to bring Jim back, he'd have drunk himself to his grave before the year was up.

"I do." Jim said softly, sat on the bed and looking down at his hands. "And I do understand why you did it. I didn't leave you any choice." Hearing his own words reflected back at him in that quiet voice practically gutted McCoy wide open, and the abrupt flip in Jim's mood left him dizzy. This was, he realized with something close to fear, the most honest Jim had probably ever been with him. "You're right. I didn't really trust you, not completely, and I'm sorry about that. You deserved better. But I was trying, I _really_ was. I was trying to trust you," he finally glanced up and the bottom fell out of McCoy's world as he realized that he had become one of the handful of people who had succeeded in making Jim cry. "And the real bitch of it is, now I'm not sure I ever will."


	17. Chapter 17

You guys are amazing! Thanks so much for all your support. It's been wonderful to hear your thoughts – especially since you're all coming from different angles!

This part is a little slow once more. The next will be fun and action packed and things will get blown up (yay, explosions!) and from then on things will get serious. Like, we'll reach the actual plot of this plotty monstrosity. I promised you a Tarsus fic, and I will deliver. I promised you'd find out what happened to Kodos and you'll get that too! I didn't, however, promise that everyone is going to survive to the end of the story…so, um. Yes. You wanted angst? We're just getting warmed up…

* * *

Jim left Bones sitting on the edge of the bed and headed up to the cockpit. He had work that needed to be done and if he spent any longer in the same room as his friend he'd have broken down entirely and been no use to anyone.

And he was already of little use as it was.

Maybe that was for the best? He'd hurt a lot of people over the years, and none of them had meant even half as much to him as Bones did. Jim couldn't stand being in the same room as him right then, and not for the reasons he'd first have thought.

It might have felt like his skin was too tight, that there were _things_ crawling beneath the surface that he could never wash away, but that vague sense of being unclean had been something he'd lived with for a long time.

What hurt the most right then was looking at Bones and seeing what Jim had reduced him to.

Time was, McCoy had been so by the book he'd have made Spock look lazy and unethical. Over the years with Jim, he'd loosened up a little, and that was good. It was healthy.

But this? For Bones to willingly throw his entire code of ethics out the window… he'd already done that once when he brought Jim back from the dead. This was a whole new level of concerning.

And what was worse, Jim was starting to get the feeling that Bones had gotten so attached that he'd be a danger to himself when Jim inevitably couldn't be saved.

Jim didn't want to die, but he'd learned the hard way that what he wanted never really factored into anything. It had happened once, and would do so again, only now he had the knowledge that when he went, he might very well be taking Bones with him.

He didn't like it. At all. As hard as it would be, he needed to start placing some distance between them. Bones needed to regain his own identity, so when the time came when Jim was no longer around, he could be Leonard McCoy once more.

It would hurt, Jim knew, after living in the man's pocket for so long. Hell, it might even be that which killed him, but needs must.

He tried to push the thought aside as he entered the cockpit and ordered Uhura to get a link to Archer. He ignored the worried looks he was being sent from the rest of his crew and tried not to shiver. He'd pulled one of Bones' shirts on before leaving and it hung from his shoulders with enough space not to pull on his back, but it was far too thin to be worn by itself.

In truth, he ached. Everywhere. Down to the bone, and maybe deeper.

"Sir," Uhura broke his train of thought hesitantly. "I have Admiral Archer."

"On screen." Jim said, not meeting her eye. What she must think of him now. What they all must think. Not just after what they had seen of him when he'd been so pathetically helpless, but over the past year. He'd thought he'd been able to hide the worst of it from them, but obviously not, thanks to Bones. He'd slowly gotten used to the idea of having them close, as a family. He hated to know that so much of their care and support came not from love or respect or friendship, but pity.

He swallowed the bile in his throat down as Archer came on screen, looking irritable as ever.

"Kirk. What the hell have you done this time?"

"The Governor has been murdered," Jim reported as he would on any other mission, well aware of the eyes on him. "General Tereus and his brother have taken control of the Justice Building and are controlling all communications into and out of the city. Local gangs are vying for control of the suburbs, but the main square is theirs and they have the local population in a frenzy. Anyone who tries to resist their control is either put to death for sport, or executed on the spot." Jim kept his focus on Archer, knowing how his crew would take his next words and not having the courage to face them when he spoke, "it's my belief that the bodies are cannibalized and being fed to the locals in a bid to control them by supplying food."

It was strange how he felt nothing but numbness as he gave the report, but it did happen sometimes. Sometimes his brain would have enough of the shit going on around him and shut off all unnecessary functions, emotion being the top of the list.

Archer blanched on screen. "That's a hell of an accusation." He said, but not in a way that made it sound as though he did not believe Jim.

"After I was captured I was, I supposed 'assessed' is really the best word for it," Jim said with dark humor, "apparently I don't class as a particularly nutritious meal." He heard the sharp intakes of breath from around him and struggled not to flinch.

On screen, Archer looked deeply troubled. "I see."

"It's a clusterfuck, sir." Kirk shrugged. "But we have achieved our mission objectives." Now he was seriously avoiding the looks around him. "My crew will be escorting Doctor McCoy and his daughter back to Earth. I request permission to stay behind until the aid ships arrive to try and limit the loss of life."

As expected, the silence around him turned mutinous.

"I'm not sure your crew will be all that pleased with those orders, Kirk." Archer said, not quite amused, but close.

"Probably not." Jim agreed. "But they stand."

"Very well." Archer agreed. "Do what you can. Try not to make too much of a mess of things in the duration. Public response has been positive and the first of the ships should be with you in forty-eight hours. I expect a report every twelve."

"Yes sir."

"You look like shit, Kirk." Archer said.

"Yes sir." Jim said softly. "I know."

The Admiral said nothing else and the call ended. Half a second later, Jim was being shouted at by six different people. He gave them a minute to get it out of their system, then held up a hand for silence.

"You done?" He asked.

"Screw you, sir." Sulu said, making Jim grin tiredly. Blunt and to the point as always. "You're delusional if you think we're leaving you here."

"Someone needs to stay behind and sort this mess out." Jim pointed out reasonably.

"And that someone needs to be you?" Scott grumbled.

Jim shrugged his shoulders. "I'm the Captain."

"That's a bullshit reason. Sir." Sulu said. "I'm more than qualified to stay in your place, and so is Commander Spock, for that matter."

"I'm not about to put you in that kind of situation." Jim frowned.

Sulu looked seriously unimpressed and Jim was surprised. He'd expected complaints from Spock, but Sulu had always followed his orders without question.

"Sir, you've always operated on the principle that you'll never ask us to do something you yourself would be unwilling to do." Jim nodded uncertainly. It was why he went on every away mission, why he lead the party to Qo-NoS, why he was the one to go with Khan to the _Vengeance. _ It was his responsibility as their Captain. "Okay, well we just watched you being tortured. For sport." Sulu's mouth was pulled into a tight line of displeasure. "And now you're asking us to leave you here, alone. Imagine for a second it was Archer telling you to leave _us_ here. What would you say to him?"

"Get fucked?" Jim sighed, seeing his point with great reluctance.

"My sentiments exactly." Spock said from Jim's left side. "You have a plan of action in mind, this much is clear, but if you believe for one moment that we will abandon you to carry it out alone, you should heed your own words."

Jim gaped at his XO in shock. "Did you just tell me to get fucked?"

"I believe I did." Spock said serenely. "Now, if we are all operating under the same assumptions, I do believe we wish to hear your plan."

Several faces stared back at Jim with the same stubborn determination to stay by his side and Jim swore to himself that he would do everything in his power to make sure that loyalty did not get them hurt.

"Okay," Jim said reluctantly, "but you're not going to like it."

* * *

Jim stood between his past and his future and marveled at exactly how far he had come.

The _Peer Gynt_ was an absolute rust bucket when placed against the luxury shuttle he had borrowed, and it's crew were equally as odd looking in contrast to the clean cut professionals Jim now served with.

None more so than Cy, who had always been a revelation.

At fifteen, slowly gaining the height and muscle mass that had eluded him as a child, Jim had skirted the edge of adulthood right the way into some seriously shady situations. He hadn't been like Chekov currently was – adorable was never a word that could be associated with Jim – but he had been _pretty_, which, lets face it, no guy ever really wanted to be. Still, it had been a useful tool, his _only_ tool sometimes. He'd spent most of his teenage years in the kind of places that a kid as smart and sneaky as Jim had been, who had _looked_ the way Jim had looked, could have gotten away with murder.

Hell, he _had_.

Sometimes it hadn't always worked out the way he'd hoped, and that was the story of Jim's life really. People didn't like being taken for a fool, especially not by a kid, and sometimes they reacted badly.

It had been following one such incident that Jim had been forced to stow away on the _Peer Gynt_ in order to avoid the retribution of a particularly unpleasant mercenary Jim had said the wrong thing to. He'd stayed hidden and licked his wounds in the depths of the _Gynt's_ engine rooms, but his discovery had been unavoidable, and he'd been dragged to Cy by the scruff of his neck.

The first thing you learned about Cy? The man was terrifying. He was huge, easily the biggest human Jim had ever encountered, with fists like sledgehammers and shoulders that very rarely fit through doorways.

And the second? The second Jim had learned about thirty seconds after he'd been dropped at Cy's feet and damn near choked himself in an effort not to hyperventilate. He'd been picked up and put back on his feet with barely a word. Cy had terrified him into eating a bowl of soup and dragged Jim back to his cabin. He'd then told Jim to show up at breakfast, and left him alone. Jim hadn't slept, but he did go back to the galley the next morning. The rest of the crew ignored him. He'd not slept the following night, but the one after he'd been unable to stay awake. When a week passed without anyone giving him any trouble, Jim started to venture out by himself. He helped out with the engines and eventually convinced Cy to let him rewire most of the circuitry. He had something to do and the freedom to do it. No one bothered him, no one wanted anything from him, and before he knew it, a week had become a month, a month had become four years.

Turned out the second most important thing to learn about Cy was his propensity for adopting strays. And Jim had been a stray in the very worst of ways.

He'd been a complete mess, and he'd worn his hurt on his sleeve for everyone to see. Cy had been the one to take what Kodos had taught him about turning his pain into power and actually show Jim how to function in society. Which was a rather ironic thing to learn from an anarchistic pirate.

Cy had his own demons to contend with and had never once asked where Jim had come from or why he was alone in some of the most dangerous sectors of space. He just let Jim get on with things at his own pace and occasionally dragged him into the most ridiculous of escapades. In truth, they knew very little about each other beyond the superficial, but it was probably because of Cy that Jim had survived his teenage years.

That fondness for the giant of a man came flooding back as Cy grasped his arm in one hand and looked Jim up and down critically. "What the fuck happened to you?" he demanded, looking over at Jim's crew with extreme dislike. "You look more like the scrawny fucking brat you were when I met you than the pain in the ass princess that left me stranded in jail."

Jim opened his mouth to protest the whole jail thing again but decided against it. "Relax man," he soothed, "just a little disagreement with the locals."

Cy's bushy eyebrows rose in disbelief. "You're still a piece of fucking work, Jimmy."

Jim grinned. "Yeah yeah. Listen, I'm in the mood to crash their party but sadly lacking in hostess gifts. You have anything that might fit the bill?" He spoke in metaphors because clearly Bones was rubbing off on him, and he also didn't want to have to deal with Spock's no doubt unimpressed protestations when he caught on to what Jim had in mind.

Cy scratched his chin. "Yeah, I might be able to help you out with that. Give me five?" Jim nodded and Cy trudged back over to his ship.

"You are right," Spock said, his displeasure clear in the narrow glare he sent Jim. "I do not like your plan at all."

"It's a good plan." Jim protested in defense of his plan.

"It is an appalling bad plan."

"You're just jealous that my plan is better than yours." Jim teased.

Spock merely glared at him. "Since my plan consists of you sedated and recovering in a fully stocked medical facility, I'd consider it wise not to taunt me."

Jim cringed and nodded. "So noted."

Cy bounded back over with several bags. They bulged with their cargo and when he dropped one down at Jim's feet, several round objects rolled out.

"Are those grenades?" Sulu asked curiously.

"Again," Spock said softly, "I must stress how much I do not like this plan."

Jim picked up one of the grenades and rolled it between his fingers. "Come on, Spock. It'll be fun."

Hey, say what you liked about how much of a mess Jim looked - and was - at least he still had his sense of humor, right?


	18. Chapter 18

Behold, Jim's badass crew. Seriously, you probably shouldn't screw around with these guys – even the baby of the group can kick the stuffing out of you.

I'm super nervous/excited about this one. My nails are shot.

* * *

Sulu had known Jim to come up with some pretty reckless, crazy plans over the short time he had known the man. This one? Was officially the most reckless, and downright craziest plan Jim had _ever_ convinced them to go along with. And that included the whole jumping into a volcano thing.

Riley and Scott shared a glance before they went their separate ways, enough firepower between them to level the entire city. Since they had the most experience with explosives, they were to make their way around the city, planting small devices in select areas – places that would make a lot of noise, but were isolated and deserted enough to reduce the risk of civilian casualties.

They were the distraction.

Chekov and Uhura were already in place in the square. They were dressed in civilian clothes and would lay low for the time being.

They were the diversion.

Sulu was stationed in the old clock tower that stood opposite the Justice Building. He looked out onto the very place where he had watched his commanding officer being tortured, and fingered the long-range rifle with malicious intent. He'd promised Jim he would not be shooting to kill, but certainly planned on some selective shooting if he happened to see any of the men who had perpetrated the crime though his scope.

He was the cover.

And down on the ground, crazy in a way that was either terrifying or brilliant, Jim Kirk marched straight up to the people who had damn near killed him, Spock on his right, the giant figure of Cy on his left, and demanded to speak to General Tereus.

That was his brilliant plan.

_How to Storm a Building 101 _by_ James Kirk_. Just walk right through the goddamn front door.

Their comms were live, fed back to the shuttle where McCoy and his daughter were waiting with the crew of the _Peer Gynt_. Jim had outright refused to allow McCoy to come with him, and the doctor had been uncharacteristically subdued.

Sulu listened in on the sounds of commotion that followed in Jim's wake as they were surrounded by armed guards and escorted into the building. Not many people had the balls to just walk right up to a military despot and demand an audience – just killing him would have been above their paygrade.

"_You look remarkably well for a man I just had tortured_." A surprisingly calm voice spoke to Jim. Uhura had wired them all, so the sound was crystal clear in quality.

"_That's because you employ amateurs."_ Jim said with conversational arrogance. "_His rhythm was too predictable and he was clearly off balance. Next time he wants to throw from the shoulders."_ Sulu had seen the damage Jim had taken and had caught a glimpse of the still healing wounds as Jim had changed into one of Spock's thicker sweaters. The open wounds had closed, but the bruises were still a livid purple. McCoy would need to give him another session before the damage healed but blunt force trauma, especially across such a large area, had always been difficult to heal, even with the technology they had at their disposal and a man like McCoy to wield it. "_And if you want to get serious with it, have him hold on to the other end. Buckles hurt like a bitch_."

"_I'll take that under advisement_." Tereus said, clearly confused. "_I'm assuming you didn't come back here to correct my corporal punishment techniques_."

"_No_," Jim agreed. "_I didn't. Remember when you were deciding whether or not I'd make a good snack? You said you knew my face." _Sulu couldn't have been the only one of them who found the whole notion utterly nauseating. Just the thought of what they were doing was enough to put him off his food for the foreseeable future. If Jim had seen similar on Tarsus, it was no wonder the man barely ate. "_I want you to take a good look at me now, actually look me in the face this time you piece of shit, and think real carefully."_ Jim's voice never rose, but Sulu had heard the subtle shift in his tones before and knew that his Captain was well and truly at the very end of his temper.

There was silence as Tereus did just that. Sulu wished he could see the dawning realization on his face and watch it turn to fear when he realized just what he had done.

After Nero, Jim's face had been thrown out to every corner of the Federation in a double pronged PR move. The son of George Kirk, avenging his father and saving Earth; the young hero of Starfleet and the face of a new generation. Charismatic and classically good looking, Jim had been the perfect poster boy for recruitment whether he liked it or not. Kids weren't growing up wanting to be a starship captain any more, they wanted to grow up and be Jim Kirk.

And of course, after Marcus and Khan, Jim's face had been everywhere once more. The tragic hero this time, whose bravery had come at such great cost. There were only a handful of people who knew just how great, but the press had managed to get hold of a holo of a very frail, sickly Jim and had all but driven themselves into the stratosphere with their theories.

Even now, a few months after events, Jim would pop up in the news feeds again – he was teaching at Starfleet Academy; he was inspecting the impact site; he was being escorted by McCoy and Spock to physical therapy… that one had gone viral in minutes. The brave, injured captain and his loyal First Officer and attentive CMO. McCoy had exploded in rage and the newly reestablished Vulcan High Council had come down on the photographer with an unholy but nonetheless very logical shitstorm of wrath.

Jim quite clearly disliked the attention, but whether he liked it or not, there wasn't a person in the Federation who didn't know his name.

Or his face.

"_James_ _Kirk_." Tereus finally arrived at a recognition and if he had a grain of sense, must have known he was well and truly screwed. You didn't tussle with Jim Kirk and expect to come out on top.

"Captain _James_ _Kirk_." Jim stressed, his pleasant demeanor dropping like a led weight. "_And on behalf of the UFP and with the full backing of Starfleet Command, I hereby place you under arrest for treason, murder and a whole stack of other shit, up to and including being a raging fucking psychopath_."

Tereus laughed in disbelief. "_Arrest me? You and what army?"_

That, Sulu supposed, was a good a cue as any.

He breathed out slowly, his hands steadying on the exhale, and pulled the trigger.

A second later, the first explosion sounded.

Then the second.

Sulu fired again.

On the ground, Uhura and Chekov moved through the crowd. They were the fastest and in moments had circled around the square, luring out the guards for Sulu to pick off one at a time. It was tough, keeping an eye on both of them, but they worked together, firing in their own time and directing the attention of the increasingly confused guards.

A third explosion demanded their attention, then a forth.

Divide and conquer.

Distraction + Diversion = Devastation.

They were both principles Sulu had learned at the Academy. He was trained for this, but he'd never put that into practice in the real world. It was shockingly easy to do so.

The chaos escalated as the crowd panicked.

What they were doing had risks – a great deal of them. They could injure civilians, they could become caught in the stampede. Ultimately responsibility would fall to Jim, but Sulu supported him one hundred percent. He could not in good conscience allow the continued slaughter of innocent people: not for power, or sport, or _food_. Aid would arrive imminently. They needed to be in control of the city in order to see it best distributed. Jim hadn't trusted Tereus and his brother not to kill those who had been sent to help and continue with their twisted control games. Sulu trusted his instincts. He actually trusted them more than his own right now.

He'd have gone in there just to shoot the son of a bitch who had tortured Sulu's CO on _his_ watch. Jim wouldn't even consider retribution for the crimes against himself, just those against the colony.

Sometimes Sulu wished his Captain was a little more prone to vengeance on his own behalf.

He squeezed the trigger again. All body shots. There was a danger of permanent damage when you shot someone in the head, even with a stun.

Down in the square, Uhura took down a pair of guards in a fluid move that was all grace and a hefty amount of her own righteous anger. She, like Sulu, favored the styles of combat that had been taught at the Academy, though she had adopted a blend of their standard _Krav Maga_ and a _Muay Tai_ elective while he preferred _Ju-Jitsu_. In that sense, they all had developed rather unique styles of combat, and Jim had encouraged them to continue doing so. Chekov mixed _Krav_ _Maga_ with _Sombo_ and was surprisingly ruthless with it, while Riley's long legs made the elements of _Taekwondo_ he incorporated both lightening fast and painfully accurate. Spock practiced _Suus Mahna_ and was, as Kirk had often pointed out in wonder, the most logical fighter ever, though he was both elegant and terrifying to watch. Most surprising had been the few times Sulu had seen McCoy fight – the doctor was a powerhouse with a boxer's uppercut and no compunction about using it. They could have used him.

He wasn't sure how to define Jim's _when in doubt, headbutt the bastard_ style of fighting but it was half a trained style and half rough and dirty street combat. He had, however, adopted a rather remarkable take on _Eskrima_ that made him one of the most interesting fencing partners Sulu had ever had.

He clearly hadn't had to utilize it. Cy emerged from the building first, one giant hand locked around the throats of the two brothers who had been running this mad house. Spock followed, a phaser turned on the three men who had been their main cohorts.

Eventually Jim appeared, several rather battered and bruised looking men and women in his wake. He had one hand on the elbow of an angry looking teen, and had to hold him back when the kid caught a glance of Tereus and his brother.

They moved to the center of the square and eventually silence fell on the remaining civilians as the Sulu stopped shooting and Uhura neutralized the last of the guards.

Jim stepped forwards to the center of attention. Sulu kept him in his sights, hyper vigilant.

"Citizens of Cerberus!" he shouted out to the remaining crowd. "My name is James Kirk. I am a Starfleet Captain. These men have lied to you. Your General Tereus and his brother Aertes murdered your Governor in cold blood, as they have done everyone who has resisted their control. Behind me stand what remains of your officials. They will be serving in your government's place until elections can be staged." Jim's voice rang out with conviction and cool authority. "You have been lied to. You were told that the Federation did not care about your plight, that we would not come. We do care, and here we are. These men will be taken back to Earth to stand trial for their crimes. The rest of you, should evidence find you guilty of crimes committed during these dark days, will be tried and punished according to your own laws. Aid ships will be arriving in the next day. Supplies will be distributed fairly and according to need. Anyone who continues to do violence or who interferes with this transition will answer to me."

His voice rang out across the gathered people, all of who stared at him in stunned silence.

Jim looked around. "Any questions?"

No one said a word. Tereus tried, but found it choked to silence by Cy's large fist.

"Good." Jim nodded.

And with the casual grace of a man who had not just toppled a dictator and calmed a mob of people who had only hours earlier been vying for his blood, Jim turned around and walked calmly back into the Justice Building.

* * *

As Jim had promised, the first ships arrived less than a day later.

There were nine of them, each with nearly fifty members of crew, and they all seemed to fall under the direct authority of the one man.

He was tall and well dressed, with a head of dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He had the type of face that could have been thirty or sixty and dark, intelligent eyes. They were currently fixed on Jim, his expression a mix of surprise and anticipation.

"James Kirk." He said softly. "I've been waiting a long time for this." He held out a hand. Jim, who had clearly listened to some of his diplomatic training, despite what the chaos in the city suggested, took it and the two men shook hands.

"You've got me at a disadvantage," Jim said pleasantly enough, "I don't believe we have met, Mr…"

"Winston. Carter Winston." Winston flashed Jim a charming smile. "We very nearly met last year at Ambassador Ta'vek's Fundraiser but I believe you were called away on business." Eyebrows rose. Carter Winston might not have had his face plastered on the side of buildings like Jim, but his name was well known.

Winston had made his fortune in trade and had since become one of the Federation's foremost philanthropists. He had, most recently, donated an astronomical sum of credits to the establishment of New Vulcan and had spearheaded a campaign that had all but matched the amount.

Jim's expression unclouded and he smiled widely. "It's a real honor to finally meet you, sir." Jim himself had been incredibly vocal about assisting the Vulcans and the donations had poured in whenever he spoke publicly on the subject.

"Carter," Winston chuckled. "No need to make me feel older than I already am. Heard things were a little sketchy out here so I figured I'd see if I could lend a hand." Winston had a veritable army of helpers and assistants, many of who were already unloading supplies for distribution. He glanced over at the secured prisoners and frowned. "Though it looks like you've already taken care of the heavy lifting."

"Just a little regime change." Jim shrugged his shoulders. "Let me introduce you to my First Officer." He held out an arm, signaling Winston to follow in his direction. "My crew can help you liaise with the local magistrate and start distributing supplies."

Winston gladly followed. "Lead on, Captain Kirk."

* * *

"I don't like him." Cy said from his place at Jim's side. Jim shot him a fond grin. Since Winston's arrival a day earlier, supplies had quickly been distributed throughout the city. Jim and the rest of the crew were providing security, but they had not met any resistance. With Winston's presence, more of his ships were starting to arrive, along with the first of the news agencies. Cy had taken one look at the latest lot to land and made it clear to Jim it was time for him to be leaving. He clearly couldn't go, however, without parting comment.

"You don't like anyone." Jim said reasonably. It was true. Cy didn't even try and hide his dislike for Jim's crew and had only opened up very briefly to Joanna.

"Don't trust him none, either." Cy said stubbornly.

"You don't trust anyone." Jim practically repeated himself. "Especially not legitimate businessmen."

"True enough." Cy shrugged. "Just…watch your back, Jimmy."

"Always do." Jim said softly. "Listen, Cy…" he looked supremely uncomfortable for a moment, then looked up to meet Cy's gaze. "Thank you. For coming. Even though I left you in jail."

"Ah, so now you fucking admit it!" Cy crowed, grabbing Jim around the neck and pulling him into a loose headlock. Even Sulu could see how careful he was not to touch Jim's back. "Goddamn punk."

Jim squirmed and grinned. "Yeah, whatever." It was clear they weren't going to actually address any of the more serious subjects that lay between them. Apparently Jim had learned how to be an emotionally constipated lunatic from Cy. It actually explained a lot, really. "Now fuck off already before I have to explain to Starfleet why I just spent my annual salary employing a pirate."

Cy let him loose and Jim fell into step next to Sulu.

The pirate glared at him in dislike before turning a softer look on Jim. "You ever get bored of snapping your heels like a bitch, you know where to find me."

Jim grinned at him. "Nah, a pirate's life isn't for me. I like my creature comforts a bit too much." Like the empty apartment, Sulu thought.

Cy waved off the comment and made his way back to his ship. "Interesting guy." Sulu said, garnering a wry look from Jim.

"He is that." Jim agreed. "We going to be ready for tomorrow?"

Sulu nodded. "We're fueled and good to go as soon as you make the call."

"Good." Jim smiled at him. "Nicely done."

Sulu inclined his head at the praise but didn't say anything. Once Winston's next contingent of ships arrived the next morning with the manpower to oversee the restoration project of the city and it's outlying farms, they would be returning to Earth. Tereus and his cohorts would be accompanying them, ready to stand trial once back on Earth.

"Your plans, sir?" Sulu asked.

Jim smiled tiredly. "I'm going to go check on Spock, see if he and Scotty need anything, and then I'm going to sleep." Sulu's eyebrow rose in surprise. He couldn't recall Jim ever expressing his needs so bluntly.

"Good call." He said. Jim clasped his arm and nodded a dismissal.

Sulu took his leave, but not before glancing back at his captain.

Jim was looking back at the city, his shoulders hunched and his gaze far away in the distance.

Somehow, Sulu got the feeling it wasn't Cerberus he was looking at.


	19. Chapter 19

It's possible that was the longest introduction to a story ever! Oh well. Now the real fun can begin.

This chapter is full of Jim actually being taken care of for once. See, miracles do happen!

* * *

Jim had put Spock in control of their departure, thought it was probably more Spock taking said control and Jim not arguing than any real forethought on Jim's part.

McCoy had taken the opportunity to call Jim down to what he had adopted as his sickbay. Things might have been strained between then, but McCoy was the only doctor on board, and Jim did need medical attention. He half expected Jim to ignore him and be forced to drag him from the cockpit – for real this time, instead of the halfhearted protests Jim made out of habit – but Jim surprised him by turning up only twenty minutes after he'd made the request via Uhura.

McCoy looked up to see him hovering uncertainly in the doorway. He clearly had no idea what to do or say to McCoy and the stark difference to their usual banter was a bitter pill to swallow. Technically the ball was still very much in Jim's court. Despite being done with the best of intentions, Jim was the wronged party, not McCoy, and they could only move on when, or if, Jim forgave him.

But Jim, for all his charisma and charm, could be as socially awkward as either Spock or Scotty on their very worst days. McCoy knew that – hell, he'd teased Jim for it numerous times. Normal, everyday functions of relationships often went completely over his head. It had taken McCoy years to prove to him that just because they fought – an actual fight, not the arguments and bickering they could easily fill entire days with – that McCoy wasn't going to drop him like a hot potato and move on to the next thing. Pike had gone through much the same, though he'd had the added joy of being Jim's direct superior.

"Hi," Jim said hesitantly, leaning into the doorway as if he lacked the energy to stand upright on his own.

He was a doctor, McCoy reminded himself, he was _Jim's_ doctor. Pushing aside his personal feelings, McCoy pretended that Jim was just another patient and summoned him over.

"How are you feeling?" He asked, sitting Jim down on the edge of the bed and scanning him with a tricorder. He frowned at the numbers he was being sent, but in reality they were neither new nor unexpected. His most immediate concern was the hypoglycemia but there was a back catalog of problems that needed attention.

"Okay." Jim shrugged. "Tired I guess."

"I'm not surprised." McCoy said sympathetically. He gave Jim a shot of glucose and electrolytes, heavy on the potassium, then helped him remove his shirt. "I'm going to give you a mild sedative while I complete the next round of regen on your back. It shouldn't put you out, but don't worry if you start to drift off. I'll wake you when I'm done for something to eat."

"Bones, I just want to sleep." Jim protested, the uncharacteristic plea making McCoy feel like his guts were twisting themselves into knots.

"I know you do, and I know you don't want to eat right now," McCoy had heard what had happened while Jim had been held prisoner, and what had happened to some of the colonists who had tried to resist control. He couldn't say he found the idea of eating all that entertaining himself. He, however, wasn't risking kidney failure by skipping a few meals. Jim, on the other hand… "I'm giving you the option," McCoy said as gently as he could, "you either eat what I put in front of you, or I declare you unfit for duty and hook you up to an IV."

Jim glared at him, but it was the shaky sort of anger he got when he was clinging on to his last reserves. McCoy stared him down, equally as stubborn.

"Fine." Jim huffed. "Just, let's get on with it."

McCoy didn't respond. Instead he helped Jim lay down on his front before administering the sedative. As he had told Jim, it was only mild, but it was laced with as strong a analgesic as Jim's compromised system could handle. In true Jim fashion, he had to be an awkward bastard even when it came to drugs – the only painkillers that McCoy had ever been able to use on him were standard dosages not suited for more than moderate pain, or emergency use only drugs that sent him into orbit.

He used the former. The more powerful drugs, aside from making Jim babble, had a tendency to give him pretty vivid dreams.

Still, mild though the drugs were, they took off the edge of Jim's pain, which was often all he needed in order to cope. Added with another low dosage muscle relaxant, and Jim was calm, cooperative and toeing the line of coherency by the time the regen unit was powered up.

McCoy worked on his back, turning the violent black and blue bruises into pale yellows and greens. In another week, they'd be gone.

He also worked on Jim's wrists and the handful of bruises he'd taken to his torso. They were lucky they hadn't fractured any ribs with the force they'd used.

The whole process took him well over two hours, during which the shuttle took off, and Jim slipped in and out of sleep. He hadn't stirred when Spock checked in on them, nor when they'd made the jump to warp.

Eventually McCoy was able to set his tools aside and help Jim into a sweater.

How many times had he manhandled the damn kid into and out of clothing? At least Jim wasn't drunk and vomiting on him this time.

"Jim," McCoy gently shook Jim by the shoulder, bringing him out of the light slumber he'd fallen in to. Jim blinked up at him, dazed and clearly still riding the waves of the sedative. His exhaustion must have been more pronounced than McCoy expected, because he allowed himself to be helped upright with more obedience and compliance than he'd ever usually show.

McCoy had already replicated the oatmeal and placed the spoon in Jim's hand.

Jim wasn't the first person he'd ever had to help through an eating disorder. He knew exactly how heart wrenching it was watching someone you cared about struggle to do something as fundamental to human survival as eat. He knew all the right things to say and do to support someone with depression, low self esteem or body issues, but no one had ever taught him how to help someone with Jim's unique set of circumstances.

There were some markers he could look for: most of the time Jim didn't eat because he simply didn't get hungry. When he was reminded or encouraged, he'd sit down and eat whatever was in front of him and he wouldn't fuss. It was only when he was upset or stressed or feeling out of control that things shifted from a mild concern that simply needed careful observation to a danger that required active intervention. Those were the times when he would _refuse_ to eat, often for days at a time.

McCoy was certain that Jim was upset, stressed and feeling out of control, and had been ever since Pike's death and their subsequent interactions with Marcus and Khan.

Still under the influence of the sedative, exhausted and in pain, Jim obediently ate, his hands shaking ever so slightly. Every now and then, McCoy would support his elbow or hold up a glass full of fruit juice and encourage Jim to drink.

His eyes were drooping by the time he finally dropped the spoon back into the empty bowl and he leaned heavily against McCoy's arm. "Good. You did good, kid."

"Sleep now?" Jim asked tiredly.

McCoy lifted the edge of the bedding and helped Jim climb under. "Yeah Jim, you can sleep now."

Jim was unconscious before McCoy had even pulled the sheets up.

* * *

They'd been in space for a little over five hours when McCoy ventured up to the main deck. He'd checked in on the prisoners, all of who were being kept under sedation until they arrived back on Earth. Spock had refused outright to accept any other method of holding, and McCoy had supported him wholeheartedly.

It was a small shuttle with no actual brig, and with Jim out of action McCoy didn't like the idea of them being conscious.

He also really didn't like the fact that they were also ferrying Carter Winston back to Earth after he'd been called with an emergency. He had nothing against the man, and Winston seemed to be observant enough to keep his own company for the most part. McCoy just didn't like the idea of anyone outside their crew having access to Jim.

He really was the overprotective mother hen Jim accused him of being, but could anyone really blame him?

He passed Riley and Chekov playing cards with Joanna and had looked in on them all for several minutes before he'd been spotted. Jo had wanted him to join in, and McCoy had promised her a game after he had spoken to Spock.

The Vulcan was sat in the co-pilot's chair next to Uhura. Sulu had the first shift off to sleep. McCoy had spotted him passed out on the couch, dead to the world.

"Hey," Uhura smiled warmly in his direction. "You okay?"

McCoy nodded. "I'll be better when we get back to Earth."

"And the captain?" Spock asked.

"Sleeping." McCoy reported. "I've repaired most of the damage he took from the beating. I'll write up the report and send it your way."

Spock nodded in thanks. McCoy had taken holos of the damage before he'd started treatment, as was standard practice when dealing with injuries of malicious cause. They, along with his report, would be submitted with the rest of the evidence they had collected.

"Will you sedate him until our arrival?"

"Don't think I'm going to need to. He's been pushing himself for the last five days. Too hard. I'd say he's probably set his recovery back a good few weeks just by being a stubborn asshole, but then he's a stubborn asshole who saved the day, _again_, so what do I know?"

Uhura reached over and squeezed his hand. "What about the two of you?" She had clearly told Spock, for his gaze reflected his compassion.

McCoy could only shake his head in despair. "I have no goddamn clue." He admitted hopelessly. "Right now he's too damn wrecked, but I'm fairly sure I've gone and fucked things up royally."

"Doctor…Leonard," Spock said stiffly, "I have witnessed time and again the strength of the friendship you share with Jim. I do not believe that the damage between you now is irreparable."

"Says you." McCoy responded morosely.

"Indeed." Spock said. "As I recall I marooned him and then attempted to asphyxiate him. He, as you say, got over it."

"That's different." McCoy argued. "You weren't friends. You didn't betray his trust."

"No," Spock said softly. "We were not friends, yet still he forgave me. I was little more than a stranger to him, and yet here we are. If he is willing to be so forgiving to a man who did not appreciate the gift he was being given, can you imagine him to be any less so to the man he calls brother?"

McCoy could see Spock's point, as much as he resented it. But still, "He shouldn't have to forgive me. The people you love aren't supposed to hurt you."

Spock's eyes were sad when he met McCoy's gaze. "I do not believe that is a lesson Jim has ever learned."


	20. Chapter 20

Thank you so much for all your thoughts and encouragements on the last few parts. I hope you enjoyed the fluff, because it is light on the ground now...

This chapter was a PAIN to write. It made my head hurt, but hopefully you'll enjoy it even if it is short. x

* * *

Kevin Riley set down his hand and grinned with embarrassment. It wasn't every day he lost to a seven year old, even one as smart as Joanna. She flashed him her own sweet smile and collected the chocolate coins from the center of the table. McCoy snorted as he threw down his own hand. "What exactly has Jim been teaching you?"

"Nothing daddy." Joanna said innocently.

From the opposite side of the table, Chekov kept his smirk hidden behind his cards. Riley wouldn't have put it past him to have been the one responsible for Joanna's blossoming poker skills, especially with a good a target as Jim to hide behind,

"Uh huh." McCoy rolled his eyes, unable to hide the fondness in his voice.

"We'll I must say I'm awfully glad you have a few years before you're playing at the Embassy." Carter Winston shook his head in shame before putting down his cards. He shoved over a handful of coins with a small chuckle. For a rich businessman, he had a fairly decent sense of humor and he was far less stuffy than most of the VIPs Riley had been forced to ferry around over the years.

"When can I do that, daddy?" Joanna asked, oblivious to her father's pained expression.

"As soon as you're old enough to date." McCoy said gruffly. Riley coughed to cover his laugh.

"When's that?"

"Absolutely never _ever_." They turned in unison at the sound of Jim's voice from the doorway and Joanna bounced from her chair in delight.

"Uncle Jim! Come play with us!" Jim rubbed his eyes tiredly but managed a bright smile for Joanna's benefit and caught her deftly when she jumped up to hug him.

"Careful, Jo." McCoy warned his daughter. Joanna nodded seriously but kept her arms wrapped around Jim's neck. Riley wasn't sure what she had been like before Cerberus, but she was incredibly clingy and absolutely hated being left by herself. She'd only been allowed to see Jim the once since he had been rescued and took full advantage of his attention.

"You cleaning house, Jo?" Jim asked, sitting down in her vacated seat and letting the little girl arrange herself more comfortably on his knee. She nodded proudly. "Atta girl."

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" McCoy said mildly, looking at his cards and not Jim.

"I'm surprised you didn't know I wasn't." Riley frowned as the tension in the room suddenly kicked up a level. McCoy looked like he'd been slapped.

Riley looked at Chekov helplessly. They knew better than to get involved, but there had been something off kilter about the two of them now for a few days. Riley had assumed it was Jim's usual attempts to avoid being confined to bedrest, but the more he saw, the less likely it seemed.

"Dealers hand, isn't it?" Winston said hastily, clearly as aware of the shift in mood as the rest of them.

Jim's frostiness vanished as quickly as it had arrived and he smiled warmly at their guest. "Mr Winston, I trust your trip has been satisfactory so far?"

"Carter, please." Winston sounded pained. "And yes, quite pleasant. Though I am several kilos lighter on chocolate."

Jim laughed and the remaining tension shattered, "I can see that. You planning on building a bridge to the moon with these things?" He teased Joanna, who rolled her eyes in a move uncannily like her father.

Jo unwrapped one of the coins and stared at Jim expectantly until he ate it. Riley smiled again, this time full of fondness as he marveled at just how much Jim hadn't changed, despite how far he had come. He'd been a soft touch when they were younger as well.

"I believe it is your hand, Miss Joanna." Winston prompted, saving Jim from a second handful of chocolate. Jo turned her attention to the cards Jim had fanned out in one hand. The two of them leaned together, heads bowed.

"Wonderful," McCoy grumbled. "Now there are two of them." Chekov sniggered quietly.

Jim and Joanna ignored him, quietly whispering their plans. The whole table could hear them but pretended not to. For the most part, Jim would allow Jo to direct him, but every now and then he would make a suggestion for a better play.

"I don't think the young lady needs any assistance, Doctor." Winston laughed. "She's doing perfectly well on her own."

McCoy shook his head, but his smile was proud. "You have kids?"

"Just the one. A boy. Fair bit older than your Joanna." Winston looked both proud and sad. "We had a falling out some years back. Kid made it perfectly clear what he thought of me and I haven't seen him since."

McCoy grimaced sympathetically. "I'm sorry to hear that. Kids'll break your heart."

Jim and Joanna looked up, oblivious to the shift in conversation.

"That they will," Winston said softly, his eyes on the pair of them. "But none of that! I have all this horrible chocolate and no idea what to do with it."

Joanna giggled and from the wicked grin on Jim's face Riley got the impression they were all screwed.

"It's called 'poker face' for a reason, kid." McCoy grumbled.

Once again, Jim ignored him.

* * *

Joanna and Jim slaughtered them all in the next hand, and probably would have continued all night if Joanna hadn't fallen asleep against Jim's shoulder.

Jim passed the little girl to her father before asking Riley to escort him up to the cockpit.

"How are you doing?" Jim asked seriously once they were alone. "I haven't really been doing a great job keeping an eye on you."

"I'm fine." Riley stressed, knowing Jim's propensity for hoarding blame that wasn't his own. "Really. And you've been a little preoccupied."

"Yeah." Jim laughed quietly. They paused outside the door to the main hub of the shuttle.

"At least we got them, this time." He said tentatively.

Jim's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah." He said. "That's something."

* * *

During their routine check in with Admiral Archer, Riley was on deck writing up the report he had to file on their actions since arriving on Cerberus. He'd already made his verbal log, but because Starfleet thrived on paperwork he was doubling back and crossing all his t's.

It also allowed him to listen in on the conversation between Jim and Archer without actively eavesdropping. Now he knew why Uhura knew everything before anyone else ever did.

"_Transfer the prisoners as standard_," Archer ordered, "_but do not leave the hanger. We're sending a shuttle to pick you up and bring you straight to HQ."_

Jim frowned. "I have transport, sir. There's no need to go to any trouble."

"_Wasn't a request, Kirk_." Archer said gruffly. He looked angrier than Riley had ever seen him, and though the man had a reputation for being a tough bastard, he didn't think they had done anything wrong in the few hours since they had last made contact. "_Stay put until the damn shuttle arrives_."

"Yes sir." Jim said, still frowning. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

Archer shook his head "_We'll talk when you land."_

"With all due respect, sir, if I need to prepare-"

"_There's no preparing for this, Jim."_ Jim's expression of confusion shifted to open concern at the use of his first name. For all that the two men had history, Riley had never gotten the impression that they were close, and their clashes were things of legend.

"What happened?" Commander Spock had moved to stand at Jim's side, as he frequently did when they wished to present a united front, or if the Commander felt Jim needed his support.

Archer shook his head again. "_When you get back. Wait for the damn transport."_ The call ended before Jim could protest further.

After a few beats of silence, Jim turned to his crew. "Get me news feeds for the last twenty four hours." He demanded. "Uhura, I want you to see if you can pick up any substance transmissions - if it's as bad as Archers making it out to be, odds are he's issued new orders to the Fleet."

"Aye Captain." Uhura was already at the communications hub, trying to get what she could out of the system. He knew what Jim was thinking- what they were all thinking, weighing up which shitstorm was most likely, be it Klingons, Romulans, Khan or a whole new mess for them to have to sort out. Riley was at his own console, trying to sustain a connection that would allow access to the civilian channels. He wasn't the only one. A moment later, Chekov whispered some of the most ferociously colorful curses Riley had ever heard.

"What?" Jim leaned forwards in his chair, his expression tight with anticipation of trouble. "Chekov?" Chekov shook his head numbly and Jim growled in exasperation. "Ensign, report."

Chekov still had trouble finding his voice and simply sat there as Spock leaned over his shoulder. Whatever he saw leached the color from the Vulcan's face and he almost looked shocked.

"Seriously," Jim's voice grew increasingly irritated. "The suspense is killing me. Now what the hell is happening?"

Riley's own terminal chimed as the connection finally established and his console was flooded with the latest news.

One topic screamed out louder than all the rest.

_**TORTURED HERO'S TRAGIC PAST REVEALED - JAMES KIRK SURVIVED TARSUS MASSACRE AS A TEEN** _

The sensationalist headline was captioned above two images. The first was Jim speaking at the dedication of a memorial in honor of those killed during the Battle of Vulcan. It was a press favorite, showing Jim at his best, sunlight glinting off the medal on his chest.

The second image couldn't have been more different. Shock, disgust and cold fury rose in Riley's chest as he took in the battered face, sunken eyes and haunted, thousand-yard stare of the teenage boy who had saved his life all those years ago on Tarsus. It had clearly been part of Jim's medical documentation. Riley vaguely recalled having had one taken himself when he'd been found by rescue workers. The doctors had been thorough, but gentle, and every cut, bruise, break and scratch had been recorded.

Riley looked up at Jim in horror. Jim had gone very pale and he stared at the image as if he was seeing a ghost.

"Well shit." He said softly, before lurching to one side and throwing up on Spock's boots.


	21. Chapter 21

Poor Jim :( He's got this (admittedly super short) chapter of peace before we make it back to Earth and then there is no hiding for him. I'm still loving your speculations and thoughts. For those of you who wonder if Jim can take any more without breaking, the answer is no, not really. But hey, at least he's got Jo…

* * *

"Absolutely nay bloody way." If you'd have asked him a few years ago if he'd ever have had the brass ones to stare down an angry Vulcan, Montgomery Scott would have been unashamed of his answer. Angry Vulcans were bloody terrifying, this one especially.

"Mr Scott-" Spock's jaw was clenched so tight he could have cracked rocks with it.

"I said nay!" Scott said firmly, standing in the entrance of the engine room with his arms crossed over his chest. "Not a bleedin' chance."

"It is imperative we speak to the Captain about the situation at hand." Scott supposed it was. He'd heard, of course, what had happened above deck. It was a small shuttle and they were a loud bunch. By all accounts the shit had hit the fan at warp seven.

Scott had been making his way up top to investigate all the commotion when he'd practically been run off his feet by Jim. He'd had only a second to make his decision, but when Spock rounded the corner in pursuit, Scott threw himself into the doorway.

Apparently he was suicidal, and far too sober.

"Leave the lad alone." Scott implored. "Give him a wee bit o'space."

"We do not have the luxury." To his credit, Spock looked genuinely regretful and as frantic as a Vulcan ever could – it's all in the eyebrows, Scott had learned.

"Look, if the lad is hiding down here from you then it's because he needs to, nay because he wants to."

"Hiding will not help him." Spock said.

Scott shrugged his shoulders. "Aye, maybe no. But have ye ever known Jim Kirk to run from anything?" To things, things that wanted to kill him, and at great speeds. But not away. Not ever. "He needs to be alone, so you'll leave him be."

Spock looked torn between duty and desire. He was showing far more control than he gave himself credit for, especially since he hadn't just moved Scott physically out of his way. He could. Bean pole though he might look, he had three times the strength of the strongest human.

"I am…concerned for his safety." Spock admitted reluctantly.

"I'll keep half an eye on the lad." Scott promised. "Just give him some time. Some peace. He's nae gonna have any of it when we get home."

Eventually Spock nodded. "Please call me if…" he didn't finish. Scott could fill in the blank.

"Aye sir." Scott promised. He felt a flood of sympathy for the dejected Vulcan as he turned and made his way back up top. Jim bloody Kirk was a menace even when he wasn't trying.

But this wasn't the first time he'd stepped between his Captain and the XO. Not by a long shot. Jim often sought solace amid the _Enterprise's_ engines, sometimes even sleeping in the depths of Scott's department.

It didn't take a genius to see that the lad was haunted by some pretty nasty demons and if his therapy involved nacelles, who was Scott to judge?

Following Jim down into the depths of the shuttle, Scott could only imagine how bad the lad must be feeling to actually flee a conversation and hide. Like he'd said to Spock – Jim Kirk didn't run from anything. Except perhaps his past, which, as all things do, had clearly caught up with him in a bad way.

Knowing Jim as he did, it would be bad. It had to be. You didn't have the kind of emotional baggage Jim did from the inconsequential. Scott had been present when Jim's time on Tarsus had been revealed, but he wasn't naive and he wasn't stupid. The paint by numbers account Sam Kirk had given must have been nothing on the reality.

As an adult, there was probably nothing Jim couldn't overcome if he set his mind to it, but when it came to these open wounds, well…Jim was still very much the child they had been inflicted on.

Scott could see it clear as day in Jim's huddled position between the aft engine and the process cooler.

"Jim, lad, you have ta calm down if you dunnae want the doc comin' down here." Scott said, keeping his distance and his voice soft as Jim practically hyperventilated. "Slow breaths now, nice an' steady like."

Jim heard him clearly. Scott could see him struggling to comply and he held his own breath as Jim dug the heels of his hands into his eyes and clenched his fists.

It took him several minutes, but eventually he calmed and slumped against the engine, eyes red against pale cheeks.

"That's better." Scott praised. "Good lad."

"I'm sorry." Jim whispered, voice small and shamed. He made to stand but Scott shook him down.

"Ack, dunnae be daft. You stay right where ye are. It's a nice wee spot." Warm, perhaps not comfortable, but safe. Jim swallowed and nodded, not once meeting Scott's eye. Scott flashed him a smile regardless. "There we go. You take all the time ye like. I'll be over here if ye need me."

He just about heard Jim's softly whispered "Thanks Scotty."

* * *

Scott was studying Jim's supposedly secure file. It had already been leaked to the press, so it wasn't like Scott needed to leave well enough alone. Besides, he wasn't looking at all the damning things inside it – though seriously, how the bloody hell did Jim not have _any_ academic training besides three years in a lousy community school and six months with Kodos the Crazy? – instead he was looking for clues as to who had broken it wide open.

Jim's coding was as bugshit crazy as the rest of him and made little sense to anyone who had even a remotely organized mind. Scott didn't exactly keep things in order up there, but there was a system of sorts. His own brand of logic. The security protocol Jim had written was… well you needed to be a whole lot crazier than Scott was to make sense of it.

Still, he'd need to break it himself it he was going to understand how someone else had. Chekov would be on the job as well, and between the two of them they would get there eventually. He just had to not lose his mind in the process, and was lost in the job when he realized that someone had managed to sneak past him.

He'd kept Jim in the corner of his eye, because while he might be willing to defend the lad from his overly zealous crew, he wasn't stupid enough to leave a distraught man completely unsupervised. For the most part, Jim had barely moved. Now though, Joanna stood a few feet away from him, dressed in pyjamas covered with stars and clutching a blanket in one hand.

Jim blinked up at her, concern etched into his face. "Jo?"

"I had a bad dream." Scott could barely make out her quiet voice, but he managed if he strained.

Jim swallowed, "Me too." He held up a hand and the little girl rushed to him, curling up against his chest and tucking her blanket around them both.

Curling his arms around her and resting his cheek on her dark hair, Jim held her as tightly as she held him.

Scott turned his gaze back to the table and jumped a foot in the air when he saw McCoy sat opposite, silently holding out a flask of something that hopefully had a blindingly high alcohol content.

If Jim and the lass needed the purr of an engine to sleep, who could blame them?

And if Scott could see tears rolling down Jim's cheeks before they got lost in Joanna's hair, well, it was none of his damn business, was it?


	22. Chapter 22

Today I am out celebrating my wedding anniversary (two years and no maiming!) so here's an early update.

This part is, um, well I did warn you guys.

Hiding now.

* * *

"You know I was never in favor of you keeping your commission." Archer told Jim, not unkindly. He'd had Jim shuffled into his office at three in the morning, less than twenty minutes after they had arrived back on Earth. Much to the protestations of his crew, Jim had been loaded into one shuttle while they'd been forced to wait to transfer the prisoners.

Jim was exhausted, but the early hour did mean that only the most die hard reporters had been clustered around the gates of Starfleet Command.

Now he was sat opposite the man who even his mom had not fucked around, feeling like a lost little kid.

"I know Admiral Pike had to convince Marcus." Jim admitted. It had been the last thing Pike had ever done for him. Jim wondered if he'd have come to regret it.

But Archer was shaking his head. "No Kirk. I'm talking about after the Battle of Vulcan."

Jim's eyebrows shot up in surprise and not a small amount of hurt. He knew Archer didn't like him all that much, and to be fair he'd not really endeared himself well when he'd been fighting to have Scotty as his Chief. But still, being told by your direct superior that they never wanted you to have the job…it stung. "Then how come –"

"Because Marcus wanted it, Pike pushed for it, and because, to be perfectly frank, we were desperate." Jim cringed. At least Archer didn't pull his punches. After being tiptoed around by his whole crew for the past few months, brutal honesty was refreshing in some ways. "But you're missing the point."

"I am?"

Archer suddenly sighed and rubbed his eyes. He looked exhausted, and every single year of his advanced age. Jim couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. He'd been practically retired when Marcus had gone off the reservation and the President herself had begged him to retake command of Starfleet.

"I didn't want you to have command because you weren't ready for it." Archer said tiredly.

"I know." Jim said softly. Sometimes he replayed that conversation with Pike in his head on a continuous loop.

"I don't think you do, Kirk." Archer said, surprising Jim with the gentleness of his voice. "We fucked up. With you. Your family. After your father died, your mom needed help. We should have given it to her, and instead we let her go gallivanting off around the galaxy. Now we're doing the same with you."

"It's not really the same thing, sir." Jim pointed out awkwardly. His mom had lost the love of her life. He couldn't imagine how that must feel. Jim was just a little off center.

"Maybe not exactly." Archer agreed. He paused for a moment, staring Jim down thoughtfully. "I know what's missing from all those gaps in your file, Jim." He said. "You might be a sneaky little fuck, but I've been dealing with that for a century. Granted, you were the youngest, but still. Do you really think Hoshi just let you run away and didn't bust my balls to find you?"

Jim's throat suddenly tightened. He'd been waiting for this conversation for so long he had no idea what to say. "I…I'm sorry. About what happened to her."

"So am I, Kirk. So am I." Archer said sadly. "But that wasn't your fault either. Like I said, we fucked up. Maybe if we'd got your mom some help, given you kids some stability, things with Sam would never have escalated the way they did. Hoshi, well, that's more my fault than yours."

Jim had never expected that, nor could he stand for it. Archer hadn't been the one to watch her die at the hands of his own brother. He hadn't been the one she'd been trying to protect. "No, Admiral…it's not…you didn't know. You weren't responsible. Not for any of it. You barely had anything to do with ops back then."

Archer shook his head. "No, maybe not. But now I'm back at the helm of this damn beast, all the dirty little secrets have become my responsibility."

"Guess I'm one of them." Jim tried to joke.

Archer glared at him. That was more like it. Jim could handle being on the receiving end of those kind of looks. Archer being nice to him was unnerving. "Kid, you're the top of the damn pile."

"I'm an overachiever." Jim shrugged.

"I'll say. Like I said, I know the kind of crap you got up to after you left Earth." Somehow Archer had managed to steer the conversation back the way Jim desperately wanted to avoid.

"No one else does." Jim said quietly. "Not McCoy, not Spock. No one." Jim had always been purposely vague, even when he'd called on Cy for help.

Archer looked strangely sympathetic. "We can't guaranty that. Tarsus is out there now. It's only a matter of time before someone speaks to your uncle. They're already digging. They want to know how their hero walked into Starfleet with no education and no background checks. They want to know how you passed the psychological profiling and why no one flagged you up. People aren't stupid, Kirk. It's only a matter of time before everything comes out. I know you had a bad time of it when you first enlisted, before you proved to people that you had as much right to be there as anyone. It'll be like that again, only this time on the scale of a few trillion to one."

Jim nodded, understanding. His first few months at the Academy had sucked. He'd been a kid with a famous name, infamous reputation thanks to Uhura and Cupcake, and a nice mystery attached all but asking to be picked apart. Accusations and assumptions were made at every corner, and not just among the other cadets, but tutors too. He'd not sat the entrance exam or taken the interviews and he'd shown up on the first day hungover and in clothes stained with beer and blood. People had assumed all sorts: he'd blackmailed Pike, he was sleeping with Pike, he was Pike's illegitimate son. Jim hadn't told anyone because, well… he owed Pike that much. More, probably. He'd just kept his nose down and worked his ass off. When the class rankings started coming in, he'd hoped they'd speak for themselves and that people would get of his back. He'd been an idiot. Spock might have been the only one to actually have him called up on charges, but he had by no means been the first person to accuse Jim of cheating.

But Jim could see where Archer was going and he felt cold inside. "You think people are going to question my competency." Hell, it wasn't like he could blame them.

"Thousands of people died when the _Vengeance_ crashed into the city, Kirk. _Thousands_. Marcus took the blame, as was damn well right. The only reason Starfleet managed to keep any credibility was because one of our own put a stop to him. That's you, Kirk." Archer pointed at him, just in case he wasn't following. "We were able to paint him as a crazed separatist warmonger who was acting without proper authority."

"But he wasn't. He might have been acting without Command's knowledge, but Section 31 still has to answer to the President." She'd ultimately signed off on the _Vengeance's_ commission. Which was exactly why Jim had been able to borrow a shuttle from her, and get her to authorize his reinstatement. At the time, his alliance had been worth more to her than a dilithium mine. Jim was probably the only person with the credibility to outright accused her of compliance if he'd chosen to. He hadn't, if only because he genuinely believed Marcus had fooled her like he'd fooled everyone else. She just hadn't needed to know that.

"They do." Archer agreed. "And fortunately Khan's link to 31 remains classified. You however, represent Starfleet. When they start poking into your life, they start poking into our entire operation because like it or not Kirk, you belong to us and have done since the minute you were born." The words could have been cruel, but they weren't. Moreover, they were true. Jim had known that for a long time. Long enough to resent the hell out of it before Pike had refocused his energy. "You were above reproach in their eyes but you know how this is going to play out."

Jim swallowed tightly. He felt dizzy and sick, and had done ever since he'd seen that damn holo. "I do."

But Archer clearly wanted to him be certain. "It's not going to be bad at first. You're still their hero. They're going to feel sorry for you. They're going to say how inspiring you are to have overcome so much in your life. Then they are going to start looking at the details. They are going to ask what happened to you after. They'll want to know how you recovered, who helped you. And then they're going to find out that you haven't recovered, that no one helped you." There was guilt in Archer's eyes, but he carried on anyway, leading Jim down a road with a destination he knew far too well. "When they start putting all that together, even if they don't find out about the shit you pulled off planet, they _will_ find out about your criminal record and it's down hill from there."

"They'll assume," Jim picked up, his voice as hollow as his chest, "that you let me into the Academy out of a sense of misplaced guilt. They'll paint the Battle of Vulcan as luck," and so much of it had been, "and they'll say that all the people Khan killed in San Francisco might not have died if the _Enterprise_ had been captained by someone actually qualified and experienced, not the fucked up combination of a PR move and pity."

They'd say all that, and more. And it wouldn't be like Jim hadn't thought exactly the same himself.

Archer nodded seriously. "Only thing people love more than elevating a hero is watching him fall back down to Earth."

"What do you want me to do?" Jim asked. He had no. He had no idea how to play this hand. No more moves left, and not a whole lot of will to care for the outcome.

For Archer and for Starfleet, this might be a whole new nightmare to contend with, but for Jim…well, people could love him or they could hate him. He didn't care either way.

"Nothing, for now." Archer said. "I said you belong to Starfleet and that works both ways. We'll stand by you and we'll back you to the bitter end." Jim clenched his jaw to hold back the rush of emotion. "But Kirk," Archer said gently, "I am taking you off duty. You'll keep all rank and privilege, full pay plus benefits and we'll reimburse you for that little stunt you pulled with your friend that I'm sure I'm not supposed to know about –" Jim opened his mouth to protest but Archer still him with a raised hand, "this is going to be a shitstorm and it is my duty to protect you from it as best I can." He paused, looking uncomfortable and uncertain for a moment. Jim braced himself. "It's also about time we went about doing what we should have done thirteen years ago."

"Sir?"

"You're on a leave of absence, Kirk. Indefinitely. And I am ordering you to see a doctor at SFM on a daily basis until, _until_-" he had to speak louder to be heard over Jim's burst of protest, "until you declared psychologically fit for duty I will not be recommending you take command of the _Enterprise_ upon her recommission."

He looked regretful, but Kirk couldn't see past the haze of panic in his head. "What? No. Sir please, you can't-"

"I can, Kirk. And I will. This isn't a punishment. You need help. In the past we've failed to give it to you either because we were too chickenshit or it was in our best interest to keep throwing you between the Federation and our enemies. Not any more. You're been running for too long, Jim, and there's no place left to go. You can't escape this, so either you accept our help to get past it, or you don't. Either way, I can't, in good conscience, give you back command in your current state of mind. It's not fair to you, or your crew."

"Life isn't fair." Jim snarled.

"No," Archer said calmly. "It isn't. I told you I didn't want to see you become Captain because I didn't think you were ready. It wasn't a slur on you, Kirk. Neither is this. I didn't want you to have that level of responsibility, or pressure, so soon because I know what you have been trying to overcome, to heal from, and I saw you start to do that at the Academy. I feared that by pushing you too far, too fast, we'd undo all that work. And I was right. You're a wreck, Kirk, and that's our fault. Now I'm trying to fix it."

"You're not trying to fix me, Admiral, you're protecting yourself so when all this comes back to bite you on the ass, you can say you had no idea how fucked in the head I was, but hey, you've gone and removed me from a position where I can do any more damage." Jim stood so abruptly the room spun on the spot. His chair toppled over, and he would have followed it down if he hadn't grabbed the edge of the desk.

Archer followed him up. He looked like he was going to grab Jim's arm to steady him, but thought better when Jim bared his teeth.

"Damn it, this is what I'm talking about. You _are_ fucked in the head, Kirk. So much so that you can't see when people are genuinely trying to help you." The words made him think of Bones. Jim couldn't go there. Everything was spinning out of his control far faster than he could ever hope to recover from.

"Fuck you, sir," Jim spat.

Archer's expression twisted into something ice cold and fearsome. "You're on thin ice here Kirk. Take the leave. See the shrink. Sort out your damn head, and I'll give you your ship back."

"And what if I can't?" Jim said, the anger leaving him as quick as it came, only the fear remaining.

The cold look on Archer's face cracked. "Then I'm sorry, Jim. I really am."

Somehow – Jim wasn't sure how, even when looking back on the moment – he stood to attention and saluted. "Thank you sir."

"Kirk-"

"Permission to be dismissed?"

Archer sank back down into his chair, his head in his hand. "Granted."

Jim turned on his heel and marched out of the office.

* * *

"Jim!" Jim's head was empty and echoing, and he walked right into McCoy without even seeing him. Command was quiet, too early for even the most diehard workaholic to be at his desk. Jim kept on walking, oblivious to the fact that McCoy had flipped open his comm to report that he had found Jim. Spock, no doubt.

Maybe they'd give command to Spock. That would be okay, wouldn't it?

"Jim, Jesus! What the hell did Archer say?" McCoy grabbed his arm and pulled him away from the main lobby to a more private alcove. Jim didn't answer at first, and McCoy shook him gently. "Jim, come on kid, talk to me."

"They're taking her away from me." Jim whispered, the numbness spreading from his chest to the tips of his fingers.

"Who, Jim? Who are they taking?" McCoy demanded, his panic becoming more and more obvious.

"My _ship_." Jim said brokenly. And this time it would be permanent. There would be no Pike to fight his case, no last minute reprieve. And now it was out there for the whole world to see, no chance of ever convincing the well-meaning head doctors at SFM that he was mentally fit. It was one thing to run through the hoops when no one knew you had an arrow in your gut, but as soon as they saw the wounds….

McCoy was pale in the artificial light. "Fuck. _Fuck_. Jim, I'm so sorry."

If Jim were even half functioning, he'd have hated himself for just standing there, trembling with fear and shock. He shook his head numbly.

Suddenly Bones had an arm around his back. He was pulled in to McCoy's arms and held there like the weak, pathetic child he felt like. He should pull away. He didn't need the contract, he didn't _want_ it.

And wasn't he trying to push Bones away?

He couldn't remember. And he couldn't move. He let Bones hold him, let his numb, heavy head rest on his friend's broad shoulder.

"We'll fix this, Jim. I promise you."

Jim shook his head. There was no fixing this.

"Why did you bring me back, Bones?" Jim couldn't live without his ship, his crew. He'd already proved that once by dying for her. He'd been scared then. He hadn't want to go. But now…better to have died knowing she was safe, that he'd saved her, than to lose her all over again. "You shouldn't have brought me back."


	23. Chapter 23

I don't think I have ever been shouted at, sobbed on, yelled at or threatened so much before in my life! I'm so pleased! :D Thank you all for the lovely comments, cursing and threats to beat me with a tribble. You guys are amazing to put up with me. xx

* * *

Spock arrived in the foyer of Starfleet Command in time to see Doctor McCoy push Jim backwards, and with one hand braced on the Captain's elbow, deliver a hypo to the neck with such force Spock winced in sympathy. Jim went down in seconds, slumping over into McCoy's arms. Spock rushed to his side and helped McCoy shoulder Jim's weight.

"Should I ask why that was necessary?" He inquired of the doctor, who's usually expressive face was twisted into such cold blankness Spock could only fear the worst.

McCoy pocketed the hypo and tightened his grip on the arm Jim had thrown over his shoulder. "Archer's taken the damn ship from him." McCoy said blankly. "He asked me why I brought him back."

Spock stilled, going cold at the question. His mind rolled back to the way Jim's had hand fallen limply to his side, life abandoning him on the other side of that accursed glass. He tightened his grip on Jim's waist, feeling utterly cold, despite the warmth of Jim's skin.

"You are afraid he is suicidal?" Spock asked fearfully.

"Yes? No? I have no goddamn clue. Not about to risk him running around the damn city with the galaxy's press on his tail, though." McCoy said gruffly. "Besides, I have to pay the damn fool back for all these gray hairs I'm discovering."

Spock looked over at the doctor. His hair was as dark and neat as ever. A figure of speech then. "And what is your next stage of action?" He asked, acutely aware that they were standing in the middle of Starfleet Command with an unconscious Captain hanging between them.

McCoy looked at him sheepishly. "Er, well I kinda only thought this far."

Spock opened his mouth, a scathing commentary on McCoy's tactical planning on his tongue, when Nyota appeared at the entrance and rushed to their side.

"Oh my god, what happened?" She asked, touching Jim's cheek.

"I drugged the brat." McCoy sniped.

"Apparently he deserved it." Spock found himself defending the doctor in face of Nyota's look of disbelief.

"Okay, well I can believe that." Nyota was the first to point Jim's various faults out to him, but more recently she had also become one of the fastest to defend him. It was a pattern Spock recognized from McCoy's interaction with Jim and classified as friendship. Hs own relationship with Jim was somewhat different. While Nyota and McCoy frequently found themselves frustrated with Jim, Spock believed much of their anger was affected for the purpose of humor or drama. He, on the other hand, did quite frequently suffer the urge to choke the life out of the man. Perversely, he could also not bare the thought that harm might befall him. It was thoroughly perplexing. Spock met her gaze and saw only concern there, despite her words. "What are we going to do? Chekov says that there are reporters camped outside of all of our homes. We can't exactly slip in unnoticed. Certainly not like this." She indicated Jim, who was more than a little conspicuous on the best of days.

"I got an idea." McCoy said grimly. " I know where we can go."

Spock nodded, pleased. "Good. Go now. I will join you shortly." He had already turned his attention to the long corridor that led to the turbolifts. They would, in turn, lead him to Admiral Archer.

"Sure," McCoy huffed. "Leave me with Jimmy." Spock stepped aside and let Nyota take his position of support.

"I require answers." Spock justified.

"Not arguing there. Punch that bastard in the face for me, would you?" Nyota raised her eyebrows at the venom in McCoy's voice. Spock inclined his head, not qualifying the words with an answer. "I'll send you the co-ordinates."

"Take care of the Captain." Spock said softly.

For a moment McCoy's expression shattered into something wounded and exhausted before it turned once again to cool professionalism. "I always do, damnit."

Spock watched them leave, then marched towards the lifts, his outward poise giving no indication at all of the turmoil and rage that warred within.

* * *

McCoy's idea turned out to be wholly viable, yet still undesirable. Spock had half expected to be lead towards one dive or another, having heard all too many of the kind of antics Jim and McCoy got up to in their Academy days. Many of them, Jim protested quite vocally, were McCoy's doing. Spock was not sure how much of that he believed.

But instead of some dark, unhygienic corner of San Francisco, Spock followed his GPS directions to a large, elegant house overlooking the bay. It was gated and secluded, with private security posted outside who had clearly been told to expect him.

Upon ringing the door chime, Spock was surprised to see Carter Winston on the other side.

Winston looked tired but relieved to see him. "Commander Spock, excellent. I hoped you'd be here soon. They're upstairs in the guest suite, come, I will show you."

Spock hadn't even considered the possibility of seeking Winston out as an ally and the thought nagged at him. Clearly McCoy and the philanthropist had bonded in their journey back to Earth, but Spock was surprised the doctor had placed such trust in him so early into their acquaintance.

"Don't look at me like that, Commander." Winston said mildly, reading Spock's silence for the mistrust and confusion it was. "I offered my services, such as they are, should you need any help. You did me a favor, bringing me back to Earth with you. Besides," Winston looked utterly sincere, "the way I see it, you kids saved the planet, and by extension, my life. People should be lining up to try pay that kind of good deed back."

"Shockingly, they are not." Spock said dryly.

Winston flashed him a smile. "That's their shame, not mine. I pay my debts, Commander. You're safe here for as long as you wish to stay. It's secluded and quiet. You'll have your peace. I probably won't be around much anyway so you'll have the place mostly to yourselves."

Spock found himself stunned and more than a little shocked at the man's kindness. Still, he could not help shake the notion off that too much kindness was, perhaps, not a good thing. "You are aware of the reason we require solitude?"

"I saw the news feeds." Winston sighed, his eyes shadowed and his expression pained. "Tarsus IV. Not the place you'd expect a boy like Jim to emerge from."

"Indeed not-"

"_What the everloving _fuck_ Bones_?" Spock turned in surprise at the loud shout that came from the room at the far end of the hallway.

"He's awake then." Winston said serenely. "I'll leave you to it. Sounds like he's got a temper on him."

"You have no idea." Spock said, thinking of the screaming matches he and Kirk had indulged in over their acquaintance. To be fair, Jim had done most of the shouting, but Spock had certainly pushed him to it.

He stepped into the room and ducked on instinct at the PADD that went sailing over his head and crashed into the wall behind him. "Jim," he greeted calmly, "I am pleased to see you conscious again."

Jim rounded on him, his expression twisted in rage. "I should have guessed you'd be in on this as well." He snarled.

"In on what, exactly?" Spock queried. McCoy was stood by the end of a plush couch, his arms crossed over his chest to match Jim scowl for scowl. Nyota hovered uncertainly on the sideline, clearly unsure if and when to step between the two men.

"Lay off the hobgoblin, Jim." McCoy surprisingly came to Spock's defense. "I drugged you and I'd do it again. You don't get to just say shit like that and not expect me to lose it. You're lucky I didn't deck you."

"Wouldn't be the first time!" Jim yelled back, his fist clenched.

"So stop being an asshole!" McCoy glared at him. "Christ, Jim. I get that you're hurting right now but that doesn't give you the right to push us away and it sure as hell doesn't give you a free pass for talking like a man about to jump off a bridge."

"Are we really going to talk about who has the right to do what?" Jim said maliciously. "Because I think I'd win."

McCoy shrugged. "Probably. But here's the thing, Jim. You want to know why I broke every goddamn oath I have ever taken? Why I tagged you? Why Spock damn near beat Khan to death with his bare hands? Why I brought you back?" He'd advanced on Jim with every word spoken, until they were only inches apart.

"Yes!" Jim said, looking desperate now, not angry.

McCoy grabbed him by the shoulders before turning to look at Spock. "Damnit, get your ass over here." He snapped. "You too." He summoned Uhura. "Do that thing."

"Thing?" Spock echoed.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "That Vulcan Voodoo thing."

"Vulcans do not practice Voodoo, Doctor." Spock informed him, moving forwards none the less. "There were regions in the southern province of Nan'cor who did, at one point, develop a belief in a religion not entirely dis–"

"Spock!" McCoy was almost pink with anger and Spock decided not to push him any further. He was, however, pleased to see that Jim's emotions seemed to have calmed from their towering heights to something more subtle but no less pained.

Spock took McCoy's hand in one of his own, Nyota's quickly wrapping over them. The three of them turned on Jim, who took half a step backwards, his eyes wide and scared.

"You need not fear us, Jim." Spock said, trying to infuse all the gentleness he could into his words. "No harm will ever befall you at our hands."

"Unless you talk shit like that again." McCoy muttered under his breath. "Then I'm claiming diminished responsibility."

Nyota kicked him sharply in the shin.

Spock held out his hand. Jim stared at it, as if he expected it to either burn him, or worse, strike him.

"Jim," Spock said, trying to get his friend to meet his eyes. "You trusted me with your ship, your family, your _life_. Trust me now when I say we will not hurt you."

Jim's jaw clenched and his lips pulled into an unhappy line. Then, showing the courage that was as much his legacy as his brilliance, he reached out and took Spock's hand.

Spock let himself be a conduit, allowing all of Nyota's gentle love and McCoy's fierce devotion to flow through him and wrap around Jim, who swayed, knees buckling, at the first touch of their consciousness's against his own.

"What is that?" He marveled, eyes wide with something other than fear. His hand clamped down on Spock's as he drank in all the positivity and affection that came from two of the most emotionally giving people Spock had ever encountered.

And then, when Jim's mind was wrapped up in McCoy's and Nyota's, Spock allowed himself to join them.

He focused on all the things about Jim he admired and respected, all the quirks he appreciated and the moments he cherished.

Then gently, as the tension slowly left Jim's shoulders and he leaned against them all, calm and comforted, Spock eased the connection apart.

"Do you understand now, Jim?" Spock asked, after a moment had passed and Jim was steady on his feet again.

Jim swallowed and nodded. "I think so. I mean, I don't get why, but..."

"That will come." Spock promised him, guiding three shaky humans to the couch and settling them down. Nyota immediately curled herself against Jim's side, his arm encircling her almost instinctively. On Jim's other side, McCoy had his hand on Jim's shoulder, resting there reassuringly.

Jim sucked in a slow, shuddering breath. "What am I going to do now?" He asked his voice as broken as he was.

"Well," Spock advised, "I believe you are going to rise to this challenge as you do all others: with strength, integrity and utmost courage. You will see the doctors at Starfleet Medical, as ordered by Admiral Archer, and you will show the world that no matter what you might have endured as a child, you are James Tiberius Kirk, and you do not believe in no-win scenarios."

Jim nodded shakily. Spock placed a hand gently on his knee, and tried to imagine what Jim would do if their situations were reversed. Surprisingly, the answer came to him immediately. He smiled, a rarity as any in the room would tell it and looked Jim in the eye.

"If not, I hope you are financially solvent enough to support us all in the lifestyles we are accustomed to once we become unemployed." Jim quirked his head in confusion. "I might have told Admiral Archer that your senior crew would not be returning to their posts without their Captain." Spock admitted.

"Might?" Jim flashed him a shadow of a smile, somehow all the more precious for its weakness.

"Very well," Spock's lip twisted upwards. "I informed him that he was a short sighted fool and that no one who served aboard the _Enterprise_ during her encounter with Khan would ever willingly serve under another Captain. I simply asked if Starfleet would be able to withstand the loss of over four hundred of its most highly trained and tested field personnel."

"You blackmailed Archer?" Jim's jaw dropped. "Oh my god. I'm not sure if I am proud or horrified."

"Be both." Nyota smiled at him. "But what Spock is saying…well it's true."

"Indeed." Spock nodded. "You are not alone, Jim. Not any more. We will face this together, and we will all return to the _Enterprise, _together, or none of us shall."


	24. Chapter 24

This chapter deals with Frank and everything that entails. When plotting out the story arcs and trying to grasp characters, I was very uncertain as to how severe the abuse Jim experienced from Frank would be. Ultimately, in order to make certain things with Kodos and Tarsus work in specific ways, I chose to go down this path. It's not explicit, but the sexual abuse of a child is discussed.

It's a fairly short part, but I know some of you have been waiting for it!

A/N: There are some discrepancies that have cropped up in this story, and Transitions, that don't fit in with Genesis. I will eventually get around to posting the reworked version of that story, but it was pretty much all written long before this verse actually expanded.

* * *

Jim had, finally, slept. Without looking at a tricorder McCoy couldn't have been certain whether it was simple exhaustion or the remains of the sedative that eventually took him under, but either way it meant they all were able to get some rest. Jim slept for seven hours, curled on the couch and buried under a hand knitted blanket. Uhura and Spock took the opportunity to return to their own home to collect changes of clothing and other supplies.

McCoy, used to Jim being a complete idiot, stole the pillows and blanket off the guest bed, stretched out on the floor in front of the couch, and consoled himself that while he might have been too old to sleep in the floor, Jim would actually have to step on him if he wanted to escape.

Exhausted though McCoy might be, he'd still not sleep through that.

He only actually slept for five hours. Years of residency and manning ERs and sickbays left his sleep patterns almost as messed up as Jim's. Instead of one prolonged period of rest, he split his sleep into two, sometimes three periods. He usually tried to get in two to four hours at a time but only ever managed to do so when they weren't flying from one crisis to another.

It was a trait Jim shared, and had actually made what would have been seriously irritating habits to have in a roommate work out well for them. Jim power napped like no one McCoy had ever met. Twenty minutes twice a day usually saw him through when he was only clocking in four hours a night at the very most.

They both could, and had, gone for four days without sleeping at all. Jim usually ended up walking into things and McCoy lost the ability to pronounce even the most basic medical terms. They had a mutual agreement that when things got that bad, interventions would be staged. When alcohol wasn't involved, that usually resulted in McCoy drugging Jim to the gills, or Jim sitting on him until he gave up struggling and passed out. It was dysfunctional, but it worked for them.

Ultimately though, he need not have worried. Jim was still sleeping when McCoy woke. He showered and changed into a spare set of clothes Uhura had dropped off for him before rushing out to meet Scotty. It felt good to be out of the same worn items and the heat of a real shower was a luxury a small, deep space shuttle did not offer.

He replicated himself a coffee and sat down to read through the news feeds. As expected, their arrival back on Earth had been splashed across the paper. Less expected was the story of Cerberus that had broken early that morning. There was no mention of why Jim had been on the planet, but speculation had him on a one-man crusade to bring aid to a colony currently caught in a crisis similar to the one he had endured as a boy.

McCoy couldn't help but be glad that there was no reference to Joanna, but it was a bitter, guilty, fleeting thing.

He pushed the PADD away in disgust just as Jim stretched and winced from his position on the couch. "Ow." He said, rolling his shoulder.

"Serves you right for sleeping like an adolescent brat." McCoy said grumpily.

Jim scowled at him. "Is that coffee?" He asked, stealing McCoy's mug before he got an answer.

"Got your own you ingrate!" McCoy snatched his mug back.

"Uh huh." Jim snatched up McCoy's PADD and dropped back down on to the couch. His expression clouded when he read about Cerberus. "I never asked about the transfer." He said guiltily.

"Went without a hitch." McCoy assured him. "You're going to need to write up a report. And it'll strengthen the case against them if you agree to testify."

"Archer thinks the press are going to talk to Frank." Jim said, abruptly changing the subject at the mention of testifying in trial. He set the PADD aside as he studied his fingernails and the backs of his hands, anything to avoid looking at McCoy.

"It's possible." McCoy agreed. Any reporter worth their salt would be looking into Jim's family, and Frank was a far more accessible resource than Sam.

"Do you think," Jim chewed on his nail nervously, "do you think he'll tell them? About what he did?"

"It's public record, Jim." McCoy tried to be gentle. "I think they'd put it together even without him talking."

Jim flushed, his eyes downcast once again. "No, I mean. The other stuff."

McCoy leaned forwards in surprise. While he'd put together a lot of the dots himself and had filled in many of the gaps Jim had left open, JIm had never once acknowledged that Frank's abuse had ever been severe enough to warrant more than an offhanded comment.

As sad as he was, McCoy couldn't help but be proud. "He'd be a fool if he did." He said truthfully. "He should be serving a sentence a whole lot longer than the one he currently is. He wouldn't draw attention to that."

"But he could." Jim said stubbornly. "He could tell the whole fucking galaxy."

"Jim," McCoy soothed, "if there is one thing people despise on a universal level, it's child molesters. He won't say anything. Not for some reporter's bid for a Pulitzer."

Jim flinched. "It wasn't like that." He mumbled.

McCoy was on terribly thin ice, but he knew Jim better than anyone, and when it came to Frank, the wounds he bore were classic. This, unlike Tarsus, McCoy could actually talk to him about from an informed and professional angle. "It was, Jim. You don't have to defend him."

"I'm not." Jim said stubbornly. "It's just, I don't want people to know."

"That's understandable." McCoy nodded. "And they don't have to."

Jim rubbed at the back of his neck. "Good." He breathed out heavily. "I don't want them knowing. Bad enough they know about Tarsus and all the shit from the last few months." He continued to rub at his skin and McCoy frowned at the nasty suspicion that formed.

"They? Who do you mean?"

"My crew." Jim said, shooting him a look that questioned his intelligence.

Bingo. There it was. "Because you believe they would judge you? Think less of you?"

Jim shrugged artlessly. "Sure they would. Tarsus was one thing. I know that wasn't my fault."

McCoy had to take a steadying breath. His fists uncurled as he wrestled himself for control. "Jim, I want you to imagine something for a minute." Jim looked up at him in question. "Imagine all the things you are saying to me now…imagine that Joanna was the one saying them." Just the thought made him feel sick, and he saw the same emotions cross Jim's face. He pushed on. "Imagine its her sitting next to you right now. You know that someone hurt her the way Frank hurt you, and she's justifying it, saying it's her fault, not his."

"Jesus Bones, that's completely different!" Jim exploded out of his seat in a whirlwind of nervous energy.

McCoy leaned forward earnestly. "Why?"

"She's just a little girl!"

"And you were just a little boy. You were what, ten?" Sam only left when Jim was eleven and McCoy knew the abuse had not turned on Jim until after his departure. Still, he hoped Jim would correct him and open up more by doing so.

No luck. Jim's expression closed down and he dropped back into his seat. "I don't want to talk about this."

McCoy instantly leaned back. "Okay. We don't have to."

He could tell Jim was surprised by his response. "We don't?"

"No Jim. We don't."

"But why not?" Jim frowned. "You're always pushing me to talk about shit."

"You have." McCoy smiled. "It doesn't have to be all at once. There's no right way to do it. You can tell me as little or as much as you want, and when you want to stop you say so and I'll back off. This isn't an interrogation."

"Kinda wish it was." Jim muttered to himself. He wasn't half as antagonistic as he would usually have been and McCoy hoped to god he'd been successful in his goal. If Jim was ever going to make headway with the doctors at SFM, he needed to get it into his head that the control was his, not theirs. Archer hadn't done him any favors by putting the thing Jim wanted the most in the hands of people he didn't know and was being forced to trust. The only possible way it was going to work would be if Jim felt he had the power to call the shots.

"I'll bet. Any excuse to tell me to go fuck myself." McCoy tried to tease him and lighten the mood.

"Pretty much." Jim agreed. "I'd kill for a drink."

"I'm sure a guy who can afford to shuttle off on humanitarian expeditions on a whim probably has some good booze laying around." McCoy grinned. "Bet he wouldn't mind us grabbing a sample or two. For medicinal purposes."

'You're a terrible doctor." Jim snorted. "Medicinal my ass."

McCoy stretched out a hand. Jim took it, and McCoy hauled him up off the couch, squeezing his shoulder as he steadied him. "Thank you." He said seriously, his hand still tight on Jim's shoulder.

"For what?" Jim asked, wide eyed with confusion.

"Talking to me." McCoy said honestly. "Trusting me. I know I haven't exactly made it easy for you."

Jim's confusion melted away. He glanced down at his feet. "Not really." He admitted softly. "Trusting people. I'm not good at it. It's, well… I know you've got my back." He looked back up again and met McCoy's eye, no hint of dishonesty in his expression.

MCoy almost sagged as an invisible weight was lifted from his shoulders. It wasn't the complete trust he was working towards, but it was something, and it was so much better than the weight of Jim's hurt and mistrust that had been hanging around him for the past few days.

"Always, kid." McCoy said, his voice thick.


	25. Chapter 25

I suppose this chapter could have continued straight on from the last part, but it ended up being super long, and it was nice to have a warm(er) chapter before the next round of angst kicked in. And by next round, I mean the whole point of the story.

You know how I said I'd be diverting a little from canon? Well, that spot over there in the distance is canon, and we're gonna head in the other direction.

This part isn't nice. I'd go out on a limb and say it's probably one of the more traumatic chapters in the story, so watch your step. Blood, violence and evil cliffies await.

* * *

Jim hadn't been kidding when he said he wanted a drink, and McCoy had been equally as serious when he suggested raiding Carter Winston's supply. He'd seen a fairly impressive wet bar in one of the rooms when he'd arrived, so he and Jim separated. He'd ordered Jim to make a stop by the kitchen to pick up something edible to eat, knowing full well what kind of crap Jim would halfheartedly select, just to wind him up.

In truth he didn't care. So long as the kid ate something, McCoy would hold off on the nutrition lectures for the day. He'd already planned out a diet for Jim to follow that should slowly bring his weight up, but today, of all days, he'd happily eat anything so long as Jim joined him.

This was their standard operating procedure when they felt miserable for whatever reason. Mostly they didn't talk about things. Mostly they just drank. But some days, they'd hide in their room with booze and junk food and either watch garbage or play around with cards. It was relaxed and easy and though they hadn't done it since they had graduated, McCoy was almost excited for the chance to just decompress with Jim. Truth of it was, they hadn't done any of the things they had used to do as friends in far too long. Work and Jim's recovery had taken over their lives long before Cerebus had.

And now McCoy had the tentative hope that Jim might actually be able to forgive him, and that they could move beyond the crap of the last year… well apparently McCoy was a thirteen year old girl who needed to hang out with his friends and braid each others hair, or whatever it was kids did these days.

In a few days, he'd get Joce to bring Joanna over as well. She needed time with her mom, that McCoy didn't question, but she also needed him, and she needed Jim as well. Those two had always understood one another, and now even more so.

His efforts to find alcohol were being hampered by his wandering mind as he stepped into the third bathroom in a row. He shook his head and moved on. How many bathrooms did one man need? He remembered the shoebox he'd shared with Jim –not even their own sonic shower, and hardly big enough for one man to use, let alone two.

He supposed he'd had similar growing up. His family had always been very affluent, as had Joce's. He'd lived in a huge house and bought an equally large one when they'd been married. She'd kept it, and pretty much everything else after the divorce. McCoy was still wealthy, especially in comparison to Jim, who hadn't even had a credit account when he'd enlisted, but he now was far more accustomed to the cramped conditions of a star ship or the simplicity of his fleet owned apartment. It suited him better, he thought.

But he did miss the bathrooms.

Turning a corner, he entered into what he quickly realized must have been Winston's private suite. He could see a large bedroom through one archway, and yet another bathroom from a second. Winston's office was decorated with items from across the galaxy, and his large computer terminal dominated an antique looking desk.

Realizing his trespass, McCoy took a step back to leave the room, but the flickering images on the screen drew McCoy closer to the screen. He rounded the desk and frozen in shock.

He'd seen the image of Jim that had made the news feeds, along with the rest of his medical documentation. Spock was currently with Chekov in the computer labs at Command, running Jim's coding algorithms through one of the supercomputers in a hope of tracing who might have broken it.

So that image alone, heartbreaking and hated though it was, was not cause of concern. Jim was the only thing the media seemed interested in talking about and his thousand yard stare had become the main image associated with Tarsus, and by extension, Cerberus.

It was the others that drew McCoy up short. So many images, each flickering on screen in a continuous parade. Not just official images, or candids taken by the press, but surveillance images, many of which he was also pictured in, and more medical reports spanning Jim's entire history with Starfleet. McCoy had taken several of them himself: the one of Jim's back after his torture on Cerberus; his medical report after the Battle of Vulcan; the Federation famous image of Spock and McCoy running alongside his biobed as he as transferred to SGM after his death. There was one of Jim and McCoy each holding one of Joanna's hands as she jumped over puddles on the Academy grounds, three years old and utterly besotted with her new uncle.

But one image came up more than any others, and it was of a time long before he and Jim ever knew one another. Jim looked maybe thirteen years old, dressed in a neat school uniform with his tie on straight and his hair neatly combed. He smiled shyly up at a man with blond hair and blue eyes, a warm expression on his face and a hand resting on Jim's shoulder. They could have passed for father and son.

Kodos, McCoy realized, recognizing the man almost instantly. That was Kodos.

Less recognizable was the large white fronted building behind them. It had been far shabbier when McCoy saw it, and his attention had been on other things. It was Jim's school. They were on Tarsus.

McCoy recoiled back, suddenly afraid and in desperate need to find Jim and get the hell away.

He spun around –

- and stepped right into the blade that Carter Winston held in his outstretched hand.

"I'm terribly sorry about this, Doctor." Winston said, his expression genuinely regretful. McCoy choked on his next breath and looked down at the handle of the blade. Anterior. Upper right quadrant. Probable liver trauma. His mind supplied the basic facts, listing them off in the same orderly and proficient way it would do when assessing a patient. "It was never my intention for you to be harmed." Winston pulled the blade free from McCoy's body.

It felt as if the long metal weapon had been the only thing keeping him standing. As soon as it was gone, McCoy's knees buckled.

He tried to summon up the words to speak, but all he could do was gasp and choke on the pain. Winston knelt by him, taking McCoy's hands in his own and pressing a robe into them. He directed McCoy's hands to the wound and made him press down hard.

McCoy's vision swam sickeningly as a wave of pain hit him. He tried to speak again, but couldn't. Rapid onset shock, his brain told him. As potentially fatal as the wound itself.

"Come on now, Doctor." Winston encouraged. "You know you need to keep the pressure steady. The blood is fairly dark: I imagine I've penetrated the liver. Press down hard, and you probably have an hour before you bleed to death. I imagine you've treated a fair few wounds like this yourself. You know your odds if you don't.

Twenty minutes. If he was lucky.

Flat on his back, he could still see the flickering images on screen. Winston followed his gaze and quickly stood. Several moments later, the screen went blank.

"I am sorry." Winston told him, cleaning his hands of McCoy's blood with a second towel he then placed under McCoy's head. McCoy tried to flinch away from him and almost blacked out at the wave of pain which followed. "Try not to move." Winston advised him. "For the sake of your daughter, I will call you an emergency medical technician as soon as Jim and I are out of the city. That could take some time, so I would do your utmost to stay conscious."

Groaning in agony, McCoy tried to make a grab for Winston. He managed only to smear his blood across the man's arm. "Jim." He choked, a small part of him calling for help, but a the larger part utterly terrified for his friend.

"You've taken good care of him, I'm grateful." Winston said. "Are you cold? Let me get you a blanket."

He _was_ cold. He was freezing. He let Winston cover him with a thick, expensive blanket. He needed to keep warm. Shock and severe haemorrhaging the likes of which he was experiencing lowered oxygen delivery around the body. Less oxygen meant his blood would not coagulate properly. Bleeding would continue and his body's attempt to counter the loss would lead to metabolic acidosis, which itself would cause further trauma to his body. Once he hit that point, he would be locked into a cycle of fatal complications that trauma surgeons like himself referred to as the triad of death. If that happened, he'd need complex damage control surgery before the stab wound could even be treated, and his odds of survival would drop substantially.

"Stay still, Doctor." Winston scolded him as he tried once more to rise. He released the pressure on the wound to make a desperate effort to stop Winston leaving and going after Jim, but it was laughably weak and he was pushed back down with little effort on Winston's part.

His energy sapped, he couldn't protest when Winston shoved a second towel into his hands and pressed them over the wound again. He'd bled through the first one already and had to force himself not to calculate the likely percentage of blood he had already lost.

He could do nothing to stop Winston rifle through his pockets, his heart sinking when both his communicator and his hypospray were found and confiscated.

The comm was crushed under Winston's heel. The hypo was examined extensively.

It was, McCoy realized in horror, still set from the last time it had been used.

The level of sedative he'd used to knock Jum out cold with was uncommonly high: enough to counter Jim's insanely hyperactive metabolism. It would put Jim under for two hours, but would probably have twice that effect on most other men his height and weight.

Winston slipped the hypo into his pocket.

"I-if you hurt him," McCoy choked out, each word almost having to be ripped out of him by force, "I'll kill you."

"I'm not going to hurt him." Winston promised. "Not again."

"_Bones_! _Jesus, did you get lost? Where are you?"_ Jim's voice called through the closed door.

McCoy attempted to cry out a warning, but Winston closed a hand over his mouth, stifling the sound as he leaned down brutally on the bleeding wound.

McCoy's scream of pain was smothered. He must have blacked out for a moment, because the next minute he was alone, and all he could see were Jim's feet as they raced across the room towards him.

"Oh my god, Bones!" Up close, he could see the whites of Jim's eyes as he dropped down next to him, hands frantically searching for the wound. Jim choked in fear when he found the source of the bleeding.

Jim had stabilized casualties before. McCoy had been the one to teach him how. But his hands shook and his eyes were bright with panic. "What do I do?" He begged McCoy. "Tell me what to do!" He helped press down on the wound, then reached for his comm with his spare hand.

He tried to warn him, struggling furiously against the pain that had closed his throat. He tried, but all he could form were meaningless sounds.

But Jim, for all his experience, his paranoia and training, had broken the cardinal rule when he'd rushed to McCoy's side. He hadn't checked the room. He'd seen his friend and reacted out of fear.

McCoy couldn't blame him. He was just as guilty of doing the same himself. But he could only watch helplessly, his vision clouded by tears of fear and impotent rage, as the hand that had wrapped around his comm. was grabbed from behind. Jim was pulled back around, and McCoy's hypo pressed against his neck.

Maybe if Jim hadn't been so preoccupied, maybe if he'd been fighting fit, his reflexes sharp and his mind running at warp seven, maybe he'd have been able to do something to avoid it.

But he _was_ preoccupied. He was panicked, off his game and dulled by trauma and injury. The drug hit fast and he slumped down against McCoy's side.

He was still conscious, fighting it every step of the way as only Jim ever could, but they were both helpless.

McCoy found a last surge of energy as all his rage came exploding out. He tried to throw himself protectively over Jim, but was kicked back harshly for his effort.

His vision blacked over, his hands slipping numbly to his side, useless to stem the blood flow as consciousness left.

He was going to die, and the last thing he'd see would be Jim's wide blue eyes and the terror that shone in them before the drug finally beat him, and they both fell into darkness.


	26. Chapter 26

I can't post, or write, if you kill me. You get that, right? I know it is tempting, but hang with me! I promise it will be worth it!

By the way, I am loving all your thoughts on who/what/why Winston. Thank you for reading and engaging! It's wonderful and inspiring (and scary at times! Leave the tribbles out of it!)

* * *

"I give up! I'm no bleedin' drunk or crazy enough to make sense of this shite!" That wasn't the first outcry from Montgomery Scott since they had convened in the computer labs several hours ago, but it was far the loudest. "I'll take me hat off to the lad. This is the most complicated mess of an algorithm I've ever blood come across."

"Actually," Spock did not look up from his own console, "it is the application of the algorithm that is complex. The mathematics themselves are fairly standard. It should not, to coin a human phrase, be rocket science."

"No!" Spock could just about see a tuft of Scott's red hair as he flailed his arms over his head in a fit of dramatics. "It bleedin' isn't! And you know how I know that? Because _I am a bloody rocket scientist_!"

"Your point is well made, Mr Scott." Spock conceded. At the station across from him, Chekov was practically vibrating in his chair. "Mr Chekov, perhaps you would be wise to reduce the amount of caffeinated beverages you are consuming?"

The teenager blinked at him in confusion before following Spock's gaze down to the mound of empty cans at his feet. "Oh," he blushed, "yes sir. Wery good sir."

Satisfied Chekov would not make it into orbit by the power of his own hyperactivity, Spock returned to his work.

They had been attempting to find a way through the firewalls around Jim's file for almost two days now with little success. It occurred to Spock, and not out of arrogance, that if the men in the room with him now were having little luck, there was not a substantial list of people who could.

Jim had been rather ingenious with his approach. As he had said to Scott, the numbers themselves were not the problem. The basic system should, in theory, collapse under the application of a correct sequencing code. No, the problem they had found was that the code was semi-intelligent and built for what Jim often termed an offensive defense. Each failed attempt to break it resulted in a hydra effect as the code replicated, modified itself, and settled atop the original layer. There in lay the genius, and there in lay the fact that the brightest minds in the galaxy were finding it almost impossible to defeat.

Several attempts to break the file had clearly been made long before they got to it, and the hacker's most powerful brute force attacks had only resulted in hundreds upon hundreds of replicated code being formed, until the original was completely buried. It was very much like its creator: utterly fascinating and entirely maddening.

"You know, you could just ask Jim." Nyota leaned in the doorway, her hair loose over a t-shirt Spock believed had once belonged to her roommate, Gaila.

"Oh no!" Scott shook his head. "We'd say what exactly? He'd never let us live it down."

"I don't think he's really in the teasing frame of mind." Nyota frowned. "And would it really hurt if he was?"

Scott cast his gaze down contritely. "No lass." He shook his head. "I'd take him at his obnoxious worst right now. It's just…I thought we were tryin' the keep the lad out of this?"

"Jim has a lot on his mind right now, this is true." Spock agreed, "however Nyota is correct. We cannot waste more time on this endeavor when it is clearly making no progress. Not when we have access to its solution."

In truth he understood Scott's plight. Jim had shown no interest in apprehending those who had so horrifically violated his privacy, more focused on merely surviving the fallout. His crew, however, were experienced at demanding justice on their Captain's behalf. The crime would not go unpunished.

"There we go." Nyota encouraged. "How about we call it a day, pick up takeout and go make sure Leonard hasn't smothered Jim with a pillow?"

"Ack, my credits are on him beating the lad senseless with that tricorder o'his." Scott grinned as he logged out of the system. Chekov tripped over several cans as he gathered them up for disposal.

Nyota slid her arm into his as they made their way down towards the underground parking lot. "We're getting pizza." She informed them. "Jim likes pizza."

"Works for me, lass." Scott shrugged. "I dunnae care what we eat."

Spock's nose wrinkled in dislike. Eating food with ones fingers was such a human habit. Nyota smiled at him. "We can stop by Savak's and get you something. It's on the way."

"That is unnecessary." Spock informed her. "Mr Winston has perfectly adequate replicators. I am certain I can find something to suit my needs."

"You do understand this is not really about what food we eat, right?" She asked him. "It's about sharing a meal together."

"I understand." And he did. In truth, the substance mattered far less than the occasion. And if Jim liked pizza, he might just find himself taking delivery of one several times a day. Nyota squeezed his arm.

He was grateful for the dark windows of their transport as their vehicle left the subterranean lot and navigated the busy streets. There were holoboards everywhere and reporters had to be moved out of the street by Starfleet guards.

"Bleedin' vultures." Scott said in disgust. "What does it matter to them anyway?"

Spock did not answer. In truth, he did not understand himself.

They dropped Chekov at the apartment he shared with Kevin Riley. The two apparently were working on something to cheer Jim up, and remained incredibly secretive. "You vill see." Chekov smiled at them all. "Ve meet you in an hour."

"Alright laddie, but dunnae be late if you want there to be any food left." Scott waved him off.

In the end, they bought enough Italian food to see them nourished for several days. While Nyota remembered that Jim liked pizza, she could not recall which kind, and instead of calling him to ask – "_he'll be sleeping if McCoy had any say in the matter"_ – she simply ordered one of everything, leaving Scott squashed in the back of their transport, surrounded by a tower of biodegradable boxes and a compendium of rich aromas.

They parked in the private courtyard outside Winston's house. Nyota and Scott carried the pizza boxes and sent Spock in search of beverages, which he attempted to locate in the large, clearly unused kitchen.

Spock felt the ripple of Nyota's distress a second before he heard her scream his name. The tumblers he had collected dropped to the ground, shattering at his feet as he sprinted out of the kitchen and up the wide staircase.

He almost crashed into Scott, who had emerged from the bathroom wide eyed. Together, they raced towards the sound of Nyota's voice, only to falter in utter horror when they reached their destination.

Nyota had her back to them, McCoy's head in her lap as she slapped his cheeks gently. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of their arrival, her face streaked with tears. "He's not responding." She said, her voice desperate.

It spurred Spock forward. He dropped down at McCoy's side, internally recoiling at the amount of blood he was kneeling in. He immediately sought out the source of the bleeding. "He's been stabbed." He deduced almost instantly. The wound was flat and wide, indicating a single thrust. "Call a medic." He ordered.

Scott scrambled for his comm.

"Nyota, find the Captain." Spock ordered, resting one hand on McCoy's head, searching for his consciousness. Waves of pain and fear radiated from the unconscious man, but Spock was pleased. McCoy was still alive and his mind not lost to them.

"But I-"

"Now!" He snapped, far sharper than he would usually have been. She choked back a sob, but climbed to her knees and rushed out of the room.

Jim's absence was troubling, but McCoy needed to be his focus in that instant. He was perilously low on blood and his body was cool to the touch. Spock placed his fingers on the pressure point at the juncture of McCoy's neck and attempted to regulate his rapidly failing primary functions. Trained Vulcan healers could do this to great effect and many were reportedly able to hold a dying man from the edge of death for hours. Spock was not a healer. He knew how to use pressure points in a meld, and how to manipulate them as a form of combat. He had never been required to poses such knowledge for medical reasons, and now the lack of it shamed him.

"Medics' on their way." Scott said breathlessly. "What should I do?"

"Keep pressure on the wound." Spock informed him, knowing well and good that the window of time in which that would have made a difference had long since passed. "Try and elevate his legs."

Scott obeyed, hoisting McCoy's legs over his own knees and leaning his weight down on the doctor's chest. McCoy groaned in pain, and though Scott flinched, he remained resolute. "Who would do this?" He asked in anguish.

Spock closed his eyes and focused on McCoy's flickering consciousness. "I do not know." He could delve deeper and pry the knowledge from McCoy's mind, but he had only the focus to do one or the other. He could not allow the man to die in order to retrieve information from him.

Nyota stumbled back into the room. "I can't find him. He's not here."

Spock had feared as much. Under no circumstances could he imagine Jim being in the same building as McCoy while his friend bled to death and make no attempt to help him. He nodded tersely. "Call Lieutenant Sulu. Have Ensigns Riley and Chekov pick him up and meet us at San Francisco General." She nodded, already on the job. He turned back to McCoy. "Doctor…Leonard," he did not feel it appropriate to address McCoy by his title or surname at that moment, but likewise there was no one in the world besides Jim who was allowed to call the man Bones. Spock did not think McCoy's given name had ever passed his lips before that moment. "Leonard, you must wake."

He gave the words an encouraging mental shove, hoping the combination would draw McCoy back to them.

Time passed without consequence. Scott continued to try and support McCoy physically while Spock attempted to bring him back psychically. They could have been that way for mere minutes, or several hours.

It was not until he was being gently moved aside by men and women in the uniform of San Francisco's medical response units that he realized assistance had arrived. He reported as best he could what he had been able to deduce and stepped back to let them work.

McCoy was stabilized rapidly, and prepped for transport.

"Come on." Nyota tugged his hand demanding his attention, all but dragging him from the room and out to their transport. Scott scrambled after them, staring at his hands in numb shock.

"I must speak to Admiral Archer." Spock said, feeling strangely removed from himself.

"I already did." Nyota said, her words clipped and angry, "he's meeting us there. They've put out an APB and no fly order for Jim." Spock did not approve of the wording, but was afraid that their efforts were already too late.

She left him to fetch their vehicle, leaving Spock and Scott standing on Cater Winston's elegant front lawn. They waited, tense and afraid, as McCoy was brought from inside the house, carefully strapped to a transport bed. Several medics rushed along at his side.

Spock moved before he could stop himself. "Wait." He called as he rushed to intercept them. He was careful to make no move to inhibit their work, but carefully reached out and placed his fingers on McCoy's face.

He had only seconds.

They were enough.

He fell away and McCoy was rushed out of his reach.

Scott's strong hands steadied him as he stumbled. "What is it? What did you see?"

The lid on Spock's carefully controlled rage slipped loose. "Carter Winston." He snarled. "I want to know everything about him. Where he came from, how he got here, and why he thinks there is any place in the universe I will not hunt him to."


	27. Chapter 27

Yikes, you are a ferocious bunch! I better start plotting out more stories just to buy myself time to devise a devious escape plan.

I'm afraid this part probably will not answer half as many questions as you would like it to. It does, however, see the return of a character who hasn't been around for a while, as well as introduce a character I wanted to call Dr Von Doom. I didn't, and now really regret it.

Again, I'm not a doctor, or a nurse, or an anesthetist (or an escalator). Those of you out there who are more medically minded, please feel free to bitchslap me with the facts if I screw them up!

So, er, this one is creepy. And if you are going back and reading it again in a couple of chapters time, it's going to be _really_ creepy.

* * *

The man currently known as Carter Wilson was having a crisis of conscience.

Actually, that was not entirely accurate. He was having several crises, one of which was with his conscience.

One of the perks of being a billionaire was that even when plans blew up in his face, it was only a matter of placing a few calls and greasing a few palms before his contingency was fired up and ready to leave the atmosphere.

He spared only a few moments for cursing himself before moving on. He had underestimated how heartbreaking it would be to have James so close after all this time. In truth, none of this had been planned at all. He'd flown to Cerberus knowing full well that it would endear himself to James, just as it had when he had given so many credits to the Vulcans. James's soft spots were easy to see if you knew him well, and Winston did. Better than anyone else alive.

Cerberus was yet another means to an end, another step in a very long journey to his destination. These things could not be rushed, he told himself.

Only when he came unexpectedly face to face with James after so long, after hearing him talk and seeing him smile…well, Winston's patience got lost somewhere. After biding his time for so long, to suddenly be placed right in James's path… his carefully constructed long term goals had been cast aside.

He sensed a window, and he jumped through it.

There were cracks in James's armor, places for him to dig a hold and worm his way past the boy's defenses. He was already stretched thin. There was no better time to act.

But getting him out of the grasp of his meddling, mothering, overly protective crew proved difficult. They were a tight group and guarded their Captain with a paranoid zeal.

So as Winston had found James's vulnerabilities, he sought them out in the man closest to him. He liked Leonard McCoy, despite his irascible nature. The man loved fiercely, and anyone who clearly cared for James as much as McCoy did was worth something in Winston's books.

Breaking Jim's encryption code had been easy considering Winston had been the one to teach it to him. The modifications were interesting, but again, to anyone who really knew how the boy's mind worked, child's play to overcome. Going to the press had been a necessary evil, and McCoy had played right into his hand. None of them were quick to trust Starfleet after all that had transpired with Marcus, and they were desperate for somewhere safe to go to ground. Kind, giving, harmless Carter Winston was less of a threat: he had no need of the credits, and had he not just come running to the aid of McCoy's precious daughter?

He wondered if James knew just how damaged his friend was. How fractured and fragile all of them were. Broken toys the lot.

He had been planning on waiting out the week, on trying to bring Jim onside of his own volition, but he'd been overly enthusiastic, and so careless. Harming McCoy had never been his intention, not when he and James were so clearly at odds already.

But you can't undo the past, he knew that better than most. As soon as the deed was done, he had to move.

So now he stepped onto the deck of a private shuttle, two of his hired crew carefully bringing James on board and taking him below deck. The shuttle's registration and purpose was humanitarian, though not registered to Winston himself, and as such enjoyed some privileges that most civilian transportation were not. They would not be delayed or searched upon leaving the atmosphere. Indeed, Starfleet would escort them from the solar system themselves.

Winston looked down at the open comm. in his hand. Now would be the time to call assistance for the doctor before he bled to death.

On the one hand, he liked McCoy.

On the other, James did, too.

He closed the device and slipped it into his pocket.

* * *

"Mr Winston, it's good to see you sir." Doctor Adrian Larson was by all accounts the best physician credits could buy you. He was brilliant, discrete, and employed a rather liberal view of medical ethics. He met Winston on the main deck, his tall, lanky body wrapped in a white coat.

"Doctor." Winston nodded in greeting. "I trust you are prepared for the trip?"

"Yes sir. I've had to make some modifications to my team," Larson said as he fell into step beside Winston. "Moving the schedule ahead so dramatically resulted in some availability issues with the nurse I had hired."

"I trust you solved the problem." Winston said, his attention only half on the conversation. "I am paying you enough to have a contingency plan."

"Yes sir," the doctor nodded rapidly. "The nurse I have is experienced and comes highly recommended."

Winston caught the subtle shift in Larson's tone. "You're sleeping with her." Larson was brilliant but exceedingly arrogant. He was also terrible at concealing his thoughts and emotions.

Larson blushed. "We are in a relationship, yes."

"And she's qualified?" In truth, Winston cared little for where or in whom Larson put his dick. He only had one concern, and that was with her competency.

"Five years as a nurse with Starfleet." Larson seemed keen to convince him, but then he was being paid an obscene amount to do his job and keeping Winston satisfied was key to the credits rolling in. "No, don't worry sir," he said quickly, reading Winston's look of concern, "she resigned her commission a few months ago. Some deranged madman apparently tried to takeover the ship she was serving on; broke her arm clean in two."

"How unpleasant." Winston responded, not really caring. "She is discrete?"

"Yes sir, I can promise you that."

"Very well then. You understand of course that I require James to be under constant medical supervision. He is not to be left alone under any circumstance."

"Yes sir, under no circumstances." Larson agreed.

Winston stared at him in expectation. "And which of you is with him now?"

"Right. Yes sir." Larson backtracked quickly before turning on his heel and rushing to the turbolift.

Agitated and tense, Winston continued up the deck to confer with the ship's captain. Moving the schedule ahead had caused more problems than just finding a qualified nurse. Certain concessions would have to be made.

* * *

Feeling his credits had been well spent on the coolly efficient crew, Winston's mind turned back to James. He headed below deck in search of him. Through the closed door to medical, Winston could see him, still unconscious but resting comfortably on a state of the art biobed.

" - and I'm telling you that you can't administer a paralytic of that strength without some kind of sedative. It's barbaric!"

Winston entered the small medial bay to find his doctor, supposedly an expert in his field, being stared down by a blond woman who stood almost a foot shorter than he did.

Larson looked equally as unimpressed. "You're a nurse, Chris, not a doctor. It's not your place to question my decisions."

"It is if it puts a patient at risk!" She snapped back.

Larson sneered. "He's allergic to pancuronium bromide and pretty much every other clinically tested paralytic on the market, which means we have to use doxacurium chloride, but since he is also allergic to damn near every general anesthetic as well, we either dose him with ketamine, which according to his primary physician has already been proven to induce hypotension, or sodium thiopental, which is dangerous to use for the amount of time we're planning to."

"Why does he even _need _a paralytic if sedation is an option?" The nurse demanded.

"Because you do not know James." Winston spoke up quietly. "I will take no risks."

Larson risked a glance in his direction. "While she grossly oversteps her position, Christine does have a point, sir. I can keep him under sedation easily enough, and the biobed is equipped with restraints. Surely it would be better-"

"No!" Winston snapped, his heart rate suddenly rocketing. "You will not restrain him, am I clear? Not in any fashion." He knew well and good how James reacted to being bound and would not inflict such pain on him. "What exactly is the problem?"

Christine opened her mouth to speak but was quickly drowned out by Larson. "You want him paralyzed, we can do that. You want him sedated, we can do that too. But we can't do both. His immune system is far too delicate. I pity his doctor: I've never seen such a complicated catalog of allergies."

"By all accounts the man is a medical genius." What he wouldn't have given to have been able to hire McCoy. At least then he would have known James was in the very best of hands. "Which I was assured you were also."

Larson flinched. "It's a three week trip, sir and you want him contained." That very much sounded like he was assigning the blame.

Winston supposed it was true, but he knew James and he knew exactly what he was capable of. The kindest thing to do would be to sedate him until they reached their destination, but Winston found it almost impossible to order. James had spent enough of his life unconscious. It seemed cruel to force it on him now. "Forgo the sedative." He ordered. "Continue as planned with the doxacurium."

The nurse scowled and looked at him with far more fire than he was used to having directed at him. "You can't seriously be planning to keep him like that for three weeks. Inducing a conscious paralysis is beyond cruel. He'll be terrified."

Winston ignored her protests and sat himself down beside the biobed. He'd longed to do just that when the boy had been in a coma all those weeks ago. He couldn't, of course, but now he had the freedom to take James' hand and squeeze it encouragingly.

"He already thinks me cruel." Winston sighed in sadness. But had James's own doctor not told him he needed to rest? And more selfishly, now James was here with him, he could not wait another three weeks to say all that needed to be said. His boy was stubborn, he needed to be made to listen. Now he would have to. Winston could say everything he had been waiting thirteen long years to say without fear of Jim's hatred or being rebuffed. "And he won't be terrified." He watched James's chest rise and fall with slow, shallow breaths. Larson had already begun to prepare the IV line that would administer the paralytic, carefully calculating his timings so that the second drug took effect as the first wore off. "He'll be safe, finally."

In twenty minutes, James would wake. In twenty minutes, the man currently known as Carter Winston would be able to look into the blue eyes that had haunted him all these years.

In twenty minutes, he would have his boy back.


	28. Chapter 28

I was going to apologize for the lack of updates on Fortunate Sons – unlike this story, I don't have lots of chapters written in advance, so it is at the whim of my fickle brain a little more. I _was_. But then my house got buried under angry attack tribbles and I rather lost the train of my thoughts.

And you say I'm evil?! Yes I might torture Jim et al physically and psychologically, but I have never pelted them with tribbles. There's a line, people!

That said, I love you! You're awesome, threats and all. It's such a delight to know you are reading and enjoying, it truly is.

* * *

Spock had somehow, without his knowledge, adopted the human habit of pacing. He kept his hands behind his back and stormed up and down the private waiting room, eyes fixed on the doors that led to the surgical ward where McCoy was currently being treated.

Sat in the uncommonly uncomfortable chairs provided, looking like the strangest lineup of companions conceivable, Jim Kirk's senior command crew were each huddled over PADDS, firing facts and figures at him at a truly astounding rate.

Coupled with the imagines and memories he had received from McCoy, it was creating a very disturbing reality.

He turned, ready to continue back down the path he was steadily wearing into the flooring, when he spotted Admiral Archer stepping out of the turbolift.

"How is he?" Archer asked, immediately asking about McCoy.

"We do not know." Spock answered truthfully. They were waiting for the surgeon to arrive with an announcement and it felt strange to be expecting news from someone other than McCoy. They were so used to the miracles he casually pulled out of nowhere that trusting someone they cared about so deeply to strange hands was unnerving. "We have been attempting to correlate a pattern in order to understand recent events. Has there been any word on the Captain?"

Archer shook his head regretfully. "We've put a stop and search order on all shuttles leaving the atmosphere and are liaising with SFPD and Interpol, but nothing as yet."

Spock nodded. They had all given their statements shortly on arrival. The haggard looking detective who had interviewed them had been stunned when he'd heard the name of their missing friend and had asked if this sort of thing happened often, given what was currently circulating the news.

"_It's Jim Kirk," _Sulu had pointed out, "_if someone isn't trying to kill him, it isn't a day that ends in 'y'._

"I understand that it is not standard procedure for us to be involved at this juncture, however please understand that-"

"You're helping whether I like it or not, and if I want to stop you I'll have to throw you in the brig." Archer cut him off. "Skip the theatrics, Spock. I am under no illusions. You'll find Jim or tear the universe apart trying. I'd much rather help you than hinder you, believe me." Spock felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Archer took a seat on one of the chairs. Spock stopped pacing and sat down himself. "Tell me what you have so far." Archer said.

"This is connected to Tarsus IV somehow." Spock affirmed the knowledge they had accumulated. "From what I saw of the attack in Doctor McCoy's mind, Winston either knew, or believed himself to have know Jim in the past. Jim's lack of recognition suggests that either Winston is delusional, or his appearance has some how been altered."

"Or Jim forgot about him." Archer pointed out.

"No sir." Riley shook his head. "Jim has an eidetic memory. That's half his problem. If he met Winston before, he'd remember."

"And you're convinced this has something to do with Tarsus?"

"I am convinced," Spock said more specifically, "that it has something to do with the individual known as Kodos the Executioner."

Archer's grave face was gray with worry. "I imagine you have something to back that with, because I'm telling you now, no way in Hell would Jim ever forget that monster's face."

"It is still speculation at present." Spock said reluctantly, "however I believe our theory is correct. Carter Wilson is Kodos."

Archer ran his hand over his face in distress. "I hope to god you're wrong, Spock."

Spock inclined his head. Archer was not alone in his wish. "Carter Winston's existence cannot be traced back prior to 2246, the same year Kodos disappeared. More interesting however is the fact that Kodos himself has a record spanning only five years. Before 2241, he did not exist."

"No," Archer sighed, "he did not."

"He was an agent of Section 31." Spock deduced. Who else would Marcus have trusted to train his future recruits? Only a man who knew the system could be expected to teach it.

Archer nodded his head. "He was, though what his real name is or who he was before he took the alias of Kodos is anyone's guess. Marcus had those files destroyed years ago."

Spock had imagined as much. "Is it possible then that Marcus also assisted Kodos in escaping arrest?"

"He might have." Archer admitted with great reluctance. "Who the hell knows what that crazy bastard got up to in the years he was head of Command? All we do know is that by the time relief arrived, no one had seen Kodos in over a week. There were no records being kept of interstellar transport, so it's more than possible he hopped a shuttle to escape."

"And he has not been seen or heard from since?"

"Not to my knowledge." Archer admitted before sitting back in his chair and shaking his head. "But why the hell would he take Kirk now? I could understand if he thought Kirk recognized him, but even then it would make more sense if he'd tried to kill him. He left Jim to die on Tarsus."

"Again, from what I could deduce from McCoy's memories, Winston showed remarkable protective instincts towards Jim. He thanked McCoy for taking care of him and promised not to harm him."

Archer's expression was one of disbelief and disgust. "He tortured Jim for over a month before chaining him to a wall and leaving him to starve to death in a basement. That hardly suggests a deep well of protective instincts, Spock."

"I do not claim to understand the logic, Admiral, I merely accept the facts. Carter Winston stalked Jim for years. He chose philanthropic investments of a nature most suited to Jim's ideology, first by campaigning for the rights of abused children, then by donating so heavily to the restoration of Vulcan and finally by coming to the aid of Cerberus. Whatever his intentions towards Jim might be, you cannot deny that they have motivated the man for over a decade.

"But why now? Why not before? Why not wait?" Those were all questions Spock had asked, and he had no answer to give.

"Why Jim in the first place?" Scott asked thickly. "Hasn't the lad been through enough?"

"Tommy always said it was because Jim was the best student in their class. Kodos was always telling the others that they should be more like Jim" Riley said, his eyes clouded at the mention of their former friend and colleague. Thomas Leighton had suffered horrifically at the hands of Kodos. He'd also made very poor alliances, siding with Jim's deranged brother when he had attempted to use Jim to strike back at those he believed were to blame for Kodos' actions.

Sometimes Spock could hardly believe that so much pain and agony, so many scars, could come from the actions of one man.

Then he thought of Nero.

And of Khan.

Then he questioned how it was that he was still functioning, and what it meant about him that he was.

"Kirk's intelligence is exemplary, yes," Archer agreed, "but by no means unique. What _is_ unique is the manner with which he employs it, and that is something he has learned how to do. It's his creativity that makes him so effective, and I believe that is a _result_ of his time on Tarsus, not the reason for him being there."

"Then why else would Kodos single him out?" Riley asked. "You never saw them together, I did. Jim went everywhere with him, he was his favorite."

Spock recalled the image he had seen in McCoy's mind. Kodos and Jim together, so similar in appearance they could have been related, with Kodos's proud smile and Jim's timid attentiveness. He focused on that and combined it with what he knew of Jim at that age through the accounts of others. Nausea began to rise in his gut as Archer gave voice to his suspicions.

"Truthfully? I think the reason Kodos chose Jim had a whole lot less to do with his intelligence and a whole lot more to do with his psychological state."

"What do you mean?" Nyota asked. Her shoulder pressed against Spock's and he could feel the tension radiating through her.

"It means," Spock said coldly, "that Starfleet delivered a scared, traumatized child into the hands of a psychopath. Of course Kodos would have singled Jim out. He would have been the perfect victim. He was alone and afraid. The only family he had abused him most horrifically. I imagine Kodos needed only to give him a few kind words, a little encouragement, and Jim would have been devoted to him."

It was as ingenious as it was abhorrent, and illuminated so many of Jim's hidden scars. Pain would not break him: he had seen far too much of it. Kindness on the other hand…

Kindness could cripple Jim with no effort at all.

"That would be it." Archer said grimly. "I knew Jim, both before and after Tarsus. Not well," he added, "but we'd met a few times, and I heard about him endlessly from Hoshi. Kid was afraid of his own shadow before he left. Barely spoke two words. Didn't speak much when he came back in fairness, but there was no fear left in him. Hell, I didn't think there was _anything_ left in him."

Spock let the words wash over him. He had always thought of Jim as a man who possessed too much emotion, not a deficit of it, but there had been times in the past when he'd looked in Jim's eyes and seen nothing but death staring back out at him. It was in those moments when Jim was his most terrifying. "I have made contact with a former acquaintance of Jim's. We need all the assistance we can in locating him and I believe this individual can access channels of investigations that would be beyond our reach."

Archer's eyebrow twitched. "You're talking about Cy Gentry. God fucking help us."

"You know this man?" He had not expected the Admiral to possess enough knowledge to reprimand him for the action, but even so he found he did not care. Cy had shown genuine affection for Jim and it had been returned. Beyond that however, he had not liked the rest of them at all for reasons, Spock had later realized, that lay in the all too raw wounds Jim had sported from his abuse on Cerberus. Cy has not liked Jim's crew because they had not protected him. For this reason alone, Spock sought out his assistance.

"Never met him in person." Archer admitted. "And I'm glad of it. Still, I've turned a blind eye to some of the things he's gotten up to in the past. Man's a damn menace."

"You knew Jim had an acquaintance with him?"

"Acquaintance? You might as well say Cy raised the damn kid. The fours years Jim was with him was certainly the longest he ever actually spent in one place, even if they did hop around the galaxy."

"Four years." Spock repeated.

"Lying bastard." Sulu muttered, reminding Spock that he and Archer were not alone.

"He implied only that he had spent time with Cy at the age of eighteen." Spock clarified for Archer, who had not looked impressed by Sulu's outburst.

"He left earth when he was fourteen." Archer said dryly. "He left Cy's acquaintance when he was nineteen. You do the math."

"You allowed him to leave the planet after all he had suffered?" Spock asked in shocked disbelief. Had anyone _ever_ looked out for Jim the way he deserved? "I find it utterly astounding that after so many collective failures on the part of Starfleet to care for him that Jim ever enlisted in the first place."

"Way I hear it, kid was drunk." Archer said dryly. "Believe me, I've thought the same thing." He was silent for a moment but eventually sighed, his shoulders slumping. "But it's good you got the miserable bastard on the lookout. He's got eyes in a lot of places. We'll need them."

"And I am to assume that you will be going to the press?" Spock said, though it was more a statement than a question. This could not be kept from the public.

"Oh I'm doing more than that." Archer laughed bitterly. "Like I said, we'll need all the help we can get, even if we don't like where it's coming from. You're not the only one to call in reinforcements." Spock raised a questioning eyebrow. "I called the one person alive who hates Kodos more than Jim. I called his brother."


	29. Chapter 29

Yay! Sam's back. God help everyone but the crazy is in town once more. I did miss writing Sam, he's a hoot. Not sure why you think it's a _good_ thing though, given the fact that he traumatized Jim's only current ally, murdered Archer's long time BFF and was, at one point, in league with Khan of all people…

But hey, at least this part you find out what happened to McCoy! You know that saying about doctors being the worst patients…

* * *

Leonard McCoy, M.D. woke with a jolt and punched his attending physician in the jaw.

He wasn't fully conscious, at all coordinated, or packing anything close to his usual strength, but the last person he'd seen leaning over him had been the bastard who had stabbed him and was about to do lord knows what to his best friend.

"Sonovabitch!" He heard the man scramble back and tried to force his eyes open.

"Doctor McCoy!" A second voice spoke loudly in his ear. "You must calm down. You are at San Francisco General. You've been in an accident."

Of course he was in SFG. It was too bright and too loud and he felt like he'd let Jim organize their drinking schedule again. Where else would he be?

And it wasn't an accident he'd been in. He'd been _stabbed_ for the love of god.

He'd been stabbed, and Jim had been…

He lurched up and tried to claw his way off the damn beeping monstrosity of a bed he'd been confined to, only for several sets of hands to push him back down, voices speaking over one another and saying words like 'acute trauma', 'recovery period' and 'rest'.

Rest his ass.

He said as much.

A moment later he felt the warm rush of a sedative flood his system. As he lost consciousness, he thought he might understand why Jim hated doctors so much.

Meddling bastards, the lot of them.

* * *

The next time he woke up without the dramatics and only the faint niggling at the back of his head that suggested he'd been on anything stronger than aspirin. He was alone, and took the chance to dig around under the sheets and inspect the wound.

Someone had done a fairly competent job of patching him up, and beneath the surgical dressing only a small pink wound remained, mostly healed over and only slightly tender to the touch. It must have been a clean cut.

He eyed the stats being displayed on the bed above his head. Blood oxygen levels were steady, white blood cell count was lower than he'd have expected. He'd not fought off an infection, and his blood pressure was only slightly below normal, which was perfectly acceptable in the circumstances.

All in all, there was no reason for him to stay.

He swung his legs off the bed, hating the god-awful robes they put patients in, especially since it ended mid-thigh, and tentatively placed one foot on the ground.

Minimal vertigo, mild muscle weakness. Nothing that couldn't be overcome.

The other foot went down and he tried to stand.

No one was around to see him tumble in an undignified heap onto his ass, and for that McCoy was eternally grateful. How the hell Jim managed to not only haul himself out of bed barely hours post surgery, but go gallivanting off around the ship was anyone's guess. McCoy would consider himself pleased if he were able to make it to the door.

He made a second attempt, finally hauling himself to his feet just as some wet behind the ears kid with a doctor's ID came hurtling into the room.

"Doctor McCoy, you need-"

McCoy rounded on him with a look that had made first year residents cry. "I know damn well and good what I need. A continued course of antibiotics, which conveniently, I can prescribe and administer myself, two more rounds with a regen unit for thirty minutes a pop and three weeks on restricted duties. You know how I know this? Because I'm a trauma surgeon, not another reckless space cowboy. I am perfectly capable of overseeing my own convalescence. Now kindly move your ass out of my way: I have a captain to find and a deranged mass murderer to vivisect."

The doctor gaped at him.

Spock appeared from the corridor, standing behind McCoy's shoulder and rested a hand on his back as he swayed a little – from irritation, not weakness – and said, "Doctor, you have been sorely missed."

"Damn right I have." McCoy huffed. "Now where the hell are my clothes?"

* * *

Apparently his clothes had not survived the trip to the ER, but Nyota had cleaned the ones he'd worn to Cerberus and sent them with Spock. It took him a whole lot longer to dress than he'd have liked. It wasn't the pain that bothered him – after surgery and the bulk of the regenerative tissue work, the wound itself was all but healed. It ached and pulled if he moved too fast or in the wrong way, but thanks to the wonders of modern science, a wound that once would have taken months to heal could now be fixed relatively simply. McCoy had already come to the conclusion that if he and Jim had been living two hundred years ago, Jim would either be a train wreck of scar tissue and fused bones, or more likely dead. Small mercies, he supposed.

No, it was the drugs that were doing a number on him. Knowing his own metabolic rate, he expected at least another twenty four hours of grogginess and weakness, followed by anything up to a week of emotional instability. He'd only ever had the one surgery, and felt an uncharacteristic stab of sympathy for the number of times Jim had gone through what he currently was.

It didn't last. If the damn brat wasn't so utterly incapable of taking care of himself, McCoy wouldn't need to stitch him back together so often.

"Do you require assistance?" Spock asked from the doorway. He'd been silent while McCoy dressed, but after watching him attempt to tie his own shoelaces for three minutes he'd either given in to pity or impatience.

"I require you to shut the hell up, Spock." McCoy grunted, forcing his fingers to work as he commanded. He was a surgeon, damnit, dexterity was his greatest asset.

Spock inclined his head in that 'fuck you, too' manner of his and settled back to wait.

Once McCoy was done, he allowed Spock to lead him to a transport that would take them to the Vulcan Embassy where Jim's senior crew had set up a base. It was private, safe, and the Vulcans were apparently pretty pissed that one of their key benefactors was apparently evil.

Spock filled him in on as much as they made the trip. McCoy rested his head against the cool glass window and allowed the chill to keep him cognizant.

Three days. He'd been out for three days. _Three days. _That was how long Jim had been in the hands of that madman. No one knew why he'd been taken, or where, but if Spock was right and Winston _was_ Kodos the Executioner…

…well McCoy had just hand delivered his best friend to the maniac who had so violently butchered his childhood.

They entered the embassy grounds and McCoy slowly eased himself out of his seat.

It was an oddly beautiful complex with a courtyard filled with strange and exotic plant life. McCoy had his eyes on one pink stemmed succulent, utterly fascinated by the way it moved against the light breeze. He was so transfixed he walked right into a woman who had come storming out of the main entrance.

"Sorry ma'am," he said politely, a hand on her elbow to stead her as she teetered on outrageously high heels. Her short hemline and bold colored dress made it obvious she wasn't Vulcan even before he caught a glimpse of her face: blue eyed and beautiful, and very familiar somehow. Not friendly though, not at all. She scowled at him and snatched her elbow from his grasp before marching off towards the exit.

"You gotta hand it to Jim." Kevin Riley said as he appeared in the entrance. "He does know how to pick em." His amused expression shifted into a genuine smile. "Good to see you back on your feet, Doc."

McCoy grunted. His feet weren't all that impressed with him right then. "Friendly little thing wasn't she? Who was that?"

"That," Riley said in a wry tone of voice, "was Lenore." McCoy and Spock shared a glance. So that was the mysterious Lenore?

"What's she doing here?"

"Giving a blood sample." Riley said, waiting until they drew in line with him at the door before leading them into the building. "Lenore Karidian, not her real name," Riley explained at McCoy's irritated confusion, "is the only child of Kodos the Executioner."

"That bastard procreated?" McCoy asked, appalled.

"Apparently so."

"And she would help Jim? Is she trustworthy?"

"No to both questions." Riley said, leading them beyond the public areas of the embassy to the private residences. "She hates Jim and the feeling is entirely mutual. Fortunately for us, however, she hates her father more. Well, that and the fact that I threatened to tell the press who she is. She's an aspiring actress. Wouldn't have been the most auspicious start to her career."

"Well if she has half her old man's ability to lie through his damn teeth then she'll have a hell of a lucrative future." McCoy muttered darkly.

Riley shrugged his shoulders. "Either way, Sulu's running her blood against a sample we took from Winston's house. If they're related then I'd say we take the 'could be' and 'should probably worry' to 'is' and 'time to freak the hell out'."

They stopped in front of a large door and Spock grabbed McCoy's arm. "There is one more thing I should have told you." He said seriously. "Admiral Archer called in outside assistance to help locate Jim."

"Good," McCoy said, not seeing the cause for Spock's sudden burst of seriousness.

"Aside from Cy Genrty-"

"The pirate? Oh for the love of-"

"Leonard," Spock said, stilling McCoy's onset of a rant, "he called Samuel Kirk."

At that moment Riley keyed open the door. Inside were perhaps the strangest cluster of individuals imaginable. McCoy had eyes for only one of them. "Sonovabitch!" He snarled, pushing past Spock and storming into the room.

Sam Kirk had changed very little in the time since McCoy had seen him last. His hair was still the same regimental short cut, his eyes just a few shades darker than Jim's, and his smile several degrees the wrong side of crazy. "Doc!" He said, looking up from the PADD he was leaning over with Sulu. "Heard you got yourself stabbed. Sucks, doesn't it?"

"What the hell are you doing here?" He rounded on Spock," what is he doing here?"

"Helping." Sam said seriously, his humor vanishing in an instant. His mood swings were even more obnoxious than Jim's. "Since someone lay down on the job and let my little brother get kidnapped by a psychopath. You're getting real good at that, McCoy."

The wound on McCoy's chest flared with pain as he swung around and nailed Sam in the jaw. There wasn't half as much strength behind it as he would have liked, and Sam only stumbled back half a pace.

"Doctor!" Spock said sternly, "control yourself."

Everyone else in the room had fallen silent, all eyes on him and Sam Kirk.

"Have you forgotten," McCoy snarled, not taking his eyes off Sam, who looked back just as warily, "what this asshole _did_ to Jim? Why the hell are we trusting him?"

"They've not forgotten." Sam said evenly. "Everyone's got their threats in. Betray you and I'll find myself disassembled at a molecular level and scattered across a particularly unpleasant part of the galaxy," he glanced at Scotty, "hurt Jim and my scrotum will be trampled on by a rather fierce set of designer shoes, _and then_ I'll be disassembled at a molecular level and scattered across a particularly unpleasant part of the galaxy." Uhura flipped her ponytail back across her shoulder and glared at him. Sam rolled his eyes. "There were many others of course, but I can assure you the message is recieved loud and clear."

"Not loud enough." McCoy snapped at him. "How the hell did you get here so fast, anyway?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans in a slouch that looked far too similar to ones Jim often adopted. "I was in the area."

"You were on Earth?" McCoy asked, surprised.

"Marcus was the only reason I had to lay low. Since he's dead, I'm a free man."

"You're a murderer." McCoy corrected.

"That too." Sam agreed. "But since I have a vested interest in a, keeping my little brother alive, and b, ripping Kodos's lungs out, I'd take full advantage of my loose morals."

"He'll never forgive you." McCoy said abruptly. "Not for what you did. If you think this is your chance to get back in his good graces-"

"I'm under no illusion." Sam said icily. "Jim and I are on different sides and so long as he is with Starfleet, we always will be. But that does not mean I will sit back and allow Kodos to break him a second time."

"Oh," McCoy smiled nastily, "so it's okay for _you_ to scar your brother psychologically, but no one else?"

"Boys!" They both looked around and quailed under the glare of an irate Uhura. "You both love Jim and you both want to get him back safely. For the love of god, leave your issues at the door and lets get back to _finding him_." She sent a particularly nasty glare at Spock, who had said nothing to break up the argument, and was most likely on McCoy's side.

"It really does suck that you're not single." Sam sighed, a playful gleam in his eyes as he looked her up and down.

As one, the others in the room all rallied to come to her defense, but Nyota Uhura was not a woman who needed rescuing from assholes like Sam Kirk. "We may need your help to find Jim," she allowed, "but you don't really need all your teeth to do the job."

"Such a damn shame," Sam lamented again. "Alright, well now the good doctor his here, what's say we pull our thumbs out of our asses and actually do something?"

If looks could kill, Sam Kirk would have been dead a dozen times over. As it was, when Spock led McCoy over to a couch before he fell flat on his face, he looked up at the Vulcan and shook his head angrily. "Just so you know, there is a strong likelihood of that asshole contracting an incurable, very painful disease sometime in the not so distant future."

"That would be tragic," Spock helped him down. "But these things do happen."


	30. Chapter 30

Someone asked me which POV I enjoy writing the most and I'll admit it varies story to story. In this one it's kind of a draw between Spock and McCoy. Snark and grump is fun to write! Jim's is the worst. Poor boy is in such a bad place that it's really (really, really) hard to get him feeling real without being too OOC, as this chapter will demonstrate. There's been some really tough chapters in this story as a whole, but this whole sequence with Jim and Winston might just be the most challenging writing I have ever done. I hope it works for you all, and if you are going to pelt me with tribbles, please do so _gently_. It was a work function last night and I'm feeling just a tad delicate!

I think it is going to be a given to say that any chapter with Jim in it is going to be unpleasant. I'm pretty sure that when I wrote this chapter I was trying to see how creepy and uncomfortable I could make it without anything really happening.

(Oh, and Fortunate Sons will be up in a bit!)

* * *

Jim started to wake.

It was a slow, gradual thing. He felt warm and comfortable and secure, the way he had done on those rare mornings at the Academy when he'd managed to sleep through the night and had woken with the sunlight warming his bed through the window. Bones had physically had to drag him from his pillow's comfortable embrace.

And he felt…not refreshed per say, but not tied, not like he had been feeling for longer than he could remember. He didn't ache anywhere and his body felt feather light and rested. It was such a welcome feeling that for a minute Jim was content to just lay there, soaking up the rarity of contentment.

There were things he needed to do, but he was Captain, right? Surely he was allowed to delegate? His crew were the best, they could manage without him for a few more minutes. No one would begrudge him this comfort, would they? Wasn't Bones always telling him he needed to rest more?

Thoughts of his friend tugged at Jim's mind. He was missing something there. Something important.

Something…

"_Shit, shit!"_ That voice didn't belong to Bones, but it sounded grumpy and worried, so maybe it was. Bones did grumpy and worried like no one Jim had ever met. Even Pike couldn't reach his level, and Pike had a perpetual glare whenever Jim was around. "_How the fuck has this asshole lived this long?"_

"_You should have done this right from the minute you decided to go along with that stupid plan of his."_ That voice was also grumpy, but it was a girl's, and Bones didn't ever sound like a girl, even when Jim screwed with the temperature settings on the shower just to make him squeal. Then he sounded like some kind of bloodthirsty, flesh eating monster and Jim made himself scarce.

Jim didn't really care. The voices weren't loud enough for him to really have to pay them any attention. He was going to stay exactly where he was and maybe he'd fall back asleep again. He didn't think he'd have nightmares if he did. No one could feel as warm and as safe as he did right then and ever entertain the kind of monsters that sometimes stalked Jim in the night.

"_Jim,"_ but apparently the voices knew his name. That meant he probably knew them and should say something. It would be rude not to. "_Jim, I'm sorry. This is going to hurt but it will be over quickly, I promise. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."_

A moment later, that warm, sleepy feeling was gone.

There were hands on his face, his jaw, opening his mouth. He thought about struggling but the commands never reached his body, and then there was something cold and smooth and painful forcing its way down his throat.

He hadn't even noticed that he'd stopped breathing.

He tried to push them away, tried to tell them to stop, that it _hurt_. He could do neither.

He couldn't move at all, actually. Not his eyelids or his mouth, his fingers or his toes.

Terror clawed its way up his throat as that _thing_ pushed down deeper. He didn't gag, though he knew he should, and it kept on going. He couldn't move, couldn't stop it, couldn't even scream.

"_Nearly there, I'm sorry. Nearly there."_

Jim still wasn't breathing. The thought didn't bother him as much as it should have.

* * *

"_This is not what I signed up for!"_

"_I told you exactly what it entailed. I told you he might be resistant!"_

"_You told me we'd be caring for the mentally ill son of a billionaire. That man on the bed is James Kirk! He's neither mentally ill or the son of a billionaire!"_

"_Does that really matter Chris?"_

"_Yes!"_

Jim thought he might have lost consciousness, but without the ability to even open his eyes, he wasn't certain.

He was still locked inside his own body, still completely unable to move, and the fear came in ebbs and flows.

He'd never been this helpless. Never. Not even when he was with Frank, when he was small and weak. Even when he'd been too afraid to fight back, _he_ had been the one to decide not to do so.

He'd learned that sometimes people would hurt him and that sometimes he wouldn't be able to stop them. He'd learned it well.

He'd also learned that even when he couldn't fight back, he could control his reactions. He could fight, or he could lay back and take it; if they wanted to make him scream, they'd have to work for it; if they wanted to make him cry, they'd really need to put in the effort.

But not this time. This time he could be neither resigned or defiant. Just afraid.

He thought that maybe he'd been in some kind of accident, that he was in the ICU and Bones would be along any minute to bitch at the nurse who'd forced the rube down his throat. He must be in a hospital somewhere. He might not be able to move, but he could feel. He was hypersensitive. The tube down his throat was just one of the many that had been forced on his body.

But the arguing voices…they didn't sound like they belonged in any hospital Jim had been in.

And Bones…. Bones wouldn't leave him alone. Not like this. He knew how much Jim hated hospitals. For all that he bullied and bitched, Bones _knew_ that they scared Jim, that having control taken from him by people who felt they had the moral and intellectual right to do so made him feel small and weak.

He'd not leave Jim. Not like this. He wouldn't.

A hand suddenly cupped his cheek. He wanted to jump back in shock and fear, but he just lay there passively. Helplessly. Someone was touching him and he couldn't stop it.

"James, you must calm down." The voice that spoke in his ear was far louder than he expected it to be. He wanted to flinch back, to lash out. He couldn't. "I can see your blood pressure rising, your heart rate elevating. You must calm yourself." The hand on his cheek moved up to his forehead. "Be calm."

How could he be calm? Where the hell was Bones?

Why was this happening to him? Was he really such a bad person that he deserved this?

Head spinning and utterly petrified, Jim could do nothing but lay there and let those hands do what they wanted.

"Oh James. I am sorry it has to be like this. I'm sorry you make me hurt you this way. I'd promised myself it would be different this time, but you make it impossible to be gentle with you. But still, no chains this time, no blood. I won't let anyone harm you."

Jim hadn't realized it was possible to be any more afraid.

"We're going to be alright James." The voice promised him earnestly. "It's a long trip and you're going to use it to rest. I know this is scary, I can't imagine how you feel right now. But it is for the best. You've been running so long. Running and fighting, just because you think that's what you need to do. To be defiant, to win no matter the cost. But I'm going to prove to you it doesn't need to be that way. I'm going to take away that obligation you have to fight. All you have to do now is rest, and I'll take care of everything else."

The hand left. Lips press against his forehead. "Rest," the voice said.

Jim knew he wasn't in a hospital.

He knew Bones wasn't coming.

And he knew who spoke those words, though the voice was so very different.

A tear slid from between his closed eyes.

The hand was back, brushing it away. "I have missed you, James."


	31. Chapter 31

I am getting to the point where two of the big stories I am writing in this verse are almost complete. You've got around ten (or so) more chapters of this one left to go. So the choice is yours. Which would you like to be posted next? The next story in the line chronologically, (Klingons!) or the Academy era monster (in which Jim and McCoy become Jim&Bones and several Admirals contemplate early retirement)? Your call. Either way, FS will continue on slowly.

(And should it freak me out that the most read chapter in this story is the one where Jim gets beaten up? You're a bloodthirsty lot!)

I do love how divided you are over Sam. Some of you want a redemption arc, others want him to dieinafire. Love it!

* * *

"Jim? It's Christine. I'm just going to change your IV. Don't be scared."

Christine Chapel's life had been on a downward trajectory ever since she had transferred from the USS _Enterprise_.

Leaving had been a mistake, no matter what reasons she had given. She had liked serving on a starship. She liked the chance to build up relationships with the men and women who came into her care, and she liked knowing that she could help keep them comfortable and feeling safe during times in their lives where comfort and safety seemed far distant concepts. She took pride in knowing how to read people and adjust their care accordingly: who responded best to jokes, and who needed a gentle hand…who needed a stern lecture and a disapproving frown.

She'd liked working with McCoy and had done even before they'd gone into the black. McCoy had taken SFM by storm and Christine had been the only nurse he had ever asked for by name. That had given her a sense of pride and duty that had been hard to shake off.

Leaving that behind had been difficult, and she'd regretted it ever since.

Life on the frontier had been challenging, exhausting, and in its own way rewarding, but while she had grown to know and care about her shipmates on the _Enterprise_, her new posting had never given her that opportunity.

She'd been unable to face the idea of going back into space on a ship, and couldn't stand the thought of spending the rest of her career on the front, and so had handed in her resignation only a few short weeks into her transfer.

Taking private work had only ever been a means to an end until she figured out where she wanted to go with her career and her life.

Hooking up with Adrian had simply been a distraction along the way.

She cared for him, they had fantastic chemistry and in some ways he reminded her of McCoy. But while both doctors shared arrogance and an ego that came with battling death on a daily basis, Adrian lacked McCoy's boundless compassion. Neither of them would ever willingly give up on a patient, but while McCoy would work tirelessly out of respect for life and the desire to see it preserved; Adrian would do so because he enjoyed the control.

She'd known that, but knowing and understanding had not always gone hand in hand, at least not until now.

Jim Kirk had been on that bed for over a week now, and Christine had no idea what she was supposed to do to help him.

In truth there wasn't a huge amount she _could_ do. She had no way of accessing any of the ship's communication hubs and she wasn't a strategist.

The person best suited to getting them out of the messy they were in was completely helpless and wholly dependent on her for protection and support.

Christine was smart and she had picked up a great deal of knowledge beyond the limits of her vocation by working in such close proximity to McCoy. Even if she dared tamper with the kind of drugs Adrian was using she would never have done so with Jim as the subject. McCoy had ranted about the Captain's compromised system so many times she could still recite it word for word. McCoy knew Jim's body inside out and at a molecular level. He could make those calculated risks and have a fair idea of what might happen and how to combat it. Adrian, skilled though he was, did not have that level of familiarity.

And even if he was able to undo any damage she might have inadvertently caused, they would know she had been the one to try and help Jim. Then who would he have?

Working quickly and efficiently, she kept up a steady stream of conversation as she worked. She told Jim everything she was doing a few moments before doing it, never touching him more than was necessary for his own health. It wasn't much, but it was all she could do for him.

It felt so inadequate. What Adrian and Winston were doing was so utterly cruel it shamed her to be a part of it.

She'd known Jim since he was a smart mouthed first year cadet with a chip on his shoulder. For all that their peers had often remarked on how strange it was that someone like Jim Kirk allowed the older, ill-tempered, antisocial McCoy to hang out with him, Christine had seen the truth of it right from the start. Jim Kirk had been like a puppy with a new master, demanding attention, seeking approval, and wanting to spend every second in McCoy's company.

When she'd taken her post on the Enterprise and Jim had gone and done the impossible, Christine had heard the gossip and the chatter. Everyone had been fascinated by the young captain and he'd had more than a few admirers.

But to Christine Jim had always, and would always be, Leonard McCoy's pain in the ass kid brother. She'd gotten so used to scolding him into submission when he'd gone and gotten into one mess or another.

Seeing him like this, knowing what she herself was doing…

"How is he this morning?" The unexpected voice made her jump in fight. She'd been on edge and twitchy ever since they brought Jim on board, and though she'd called Adrian out on the subterfuge surrounding Jim's presence, she had yet to learn a single thing about the man who had hired them.

"Mr Winston." She said pleasantly, trying not to flinch at the sight of Jim's rapidly rising vitals. "How are you?"

Winston was hard to pin. He was handsome and his age impossible to accurately guess.

And aside from his order to keep Jim paralyzed, she'd never seen him do or say anything that could explain why her skin crawled at the mere sound of his voice.

"You look tired, Miss Chapel." Winston said kindly. He looked concerned about her, and she almost believed it was genuine.

"Oh I'm fine." She said, mustering the calm, sweet voice she sometimes had needed to use with patients whose condition was far worse than they yet knew.

He made his way across the room to take the seat positioned by the bed. She'd lost track of the hours he'd spent there over the last nine days; certainly more than were spent elsewhere.

Christine finished her work and smoothed the blankets over Jim's legs.

For all intents and purposes, his body was reacting as if he was in a coma, and he required all the care that was associated. It was invasive and degrading enough for a patient who wasn't conscious to be aware of it. Doing so to a man who was both awake and unable to protest felt like a gross violation.

It was that reason, she thought, more than any other, that kept her at Jim's side at all hours of the day and night.

She'd even started taking to sleeping in the same chair Winston now occupied.

"Good morning, James." Winston said as he sat. "Did you sleep well?"

Christine had full scans of Jim's brainwaves. He was sleeping, but 'well' was hardly the word to describe it.

Taking aside the moral abhorrence of what he had done to Jim, Christine didn't like Carter Winston. There was something about the way he spoke to Jim, the way he touched him…not inappropriate in the strictest sense, but still wrong.

He spoke to Jim like he was Winston's son. She might not have known Jim all that well, but she did know enough to know that he had issues with father figures, and if Winston saw himself as one then he'd done something to seriously mess things up at some point.

"You must think me very cruel." Winston said, surprising her by shifting the focus of his conversation. "To do this to him."

Christine played dumb and blonde. "I guess I just don't really know you both."

Winston hadn't been there when she'd confronted Adrian about Jim's identity, and as far as she knew he had no suspicions about her involvement.

"No." Winston said softly. "He's always been such a stubborn boy."

"It's obvious you care for him." She said, trying to smile sweetly. "That's nice." Winton's gaze was so fond when he looked down at Jim that for a second she hesitated. "But I get the feeling that he worries you a lot."

"Like you would not believe." Winston sighed. "Do you have children?"

"I don't. I think I'd like them, someday."

"Well don't rush into it." Winston advised. "You give your heart to a child for safe keeping and you never get it back. They have the power to do whatever they like with it: stomp on it, rip it to pieces, ignore it entirely."

"You two had a falling out?"

Looking troubled as he reached out and took Jim's hand, oblivious to the spike in Jim's obs, Winston didn't answer for a good few minutes. She'd almost given up expecting him to when he finally said: "I made some bad calls a few years ago. No, that is not entirely accurate. I was in a bad situation, and I made what I thought at the time was the best decision for everyone. He disagreed with me."

"That must be hard." She said, mustering up a tone of sympathy.

"You have no idea." Winston said softly. "He…he betrayed me, broke my damn heart. I didn't take it very well." She noticed the way he traced his fingers around Jim's wrist and realized with a stab of pain that they were talking about Jim as if he couldn't hear them.

Too late to change the track, she focused instead on trying to get Winston reveal his motivations for having Jim brought on board. She was fairly sure he wasn't planning on keeping Jim like this forever, and the more information he had, the better.

"I'm sorry." She said.

"No more than I am." Winston said quietly. "You did betray me, James." Jim's heart rate continued to climb. "You knew what would happen. You knew how upset I'd be. Yet you did it anyway. That is what hurt me the most, James. You put me in that position. You made me act that way. We talked about that, didn't we? Didn't you do the same to your uncle? You should have known better."

Christine turned away to hide the expression of horror that crossed her face. She wanted to get as far away from Winston as she could, but the thought of leaving Jim alone with him was utterly repellant.

"I'm sure it wasn't that bad." She tried to turn Winston's attention away from Jim.

"I believe we will simply have to beg to differ." Winston said mildly. "It hurts me that he is afraid of me, but I understand completely why it is so."

"Maybe he'll forgive you, when you…"

"Did you not hear what I said?" Winston asked, a steal undercurrent to his voice that suddenly made her utterly afraid, for her own life as well as Jim's. "He betrayed _me_."

"So is this you punishing him?" She asked softly.

"This," Winston tightened his hand around Jim's wrist, "is not punishment. If I wished to punish him he'd be in bonds and already begging for mercy. No, this is more of an affirmation, isn't it James?"

Jim, of course, said nothing.

"Affirmation?"

"A reminder. That bad things happen to good people when he disobeys. That all the times he's thought himself helpless in the past are nothing compared to what I can do to him if I chose to, and that really, he has no one to blame for it but himself. Much like yourself, really."

Christine gaped at him. Winston stood and circled around the edge of the bed.

"A word to the wise, Miss Chapel. Leave the subterfuge to the professionals." She took a step back, her palms suddenly sweaty.

"Mr Winston?" She stammered, her heels hitting the wall he had backed her against.

"You are fortunate I still have use for you." Winston said coldly. "It will not always be so." He stepped back and allowed her room to peal herself back from the wall. "Oh, and James?" He looked back at Jim on his way to the door, waiting for a response that would not come. "We'll be home very soon. You know what I'll be expecting to hear if you don't want to see your lovely nurse end up like poor little Tommy. Her eyes really are very pretty; it would be such a waste."

He didn't look at her when he left, the door closing silently behind him.

She wanted to slump down where she stood and cry, but she could see Jim's agitation in his obs and stumbled over to the bed. "I'm here, it's okay. I'm not leaving you." She curled her fingers into his and pressed the line of her arm alongside his own, the words uttered over and over until Jim calmed himself down. "I'll find a way out of this, I promise. I'll do something."

Jim's obs were slow to fall again, but she was in no rush to leave.

"I'll do something."


	32. Chapter 32

If he squinted, Leonard McCoy could see his reflection staring back at him from the bottom of his now empty glass. He almost didn't recognize himself. Scruffy hair, bloodshot eyes, a pale, sunken pallor to his skin that suggested neither a sufficient amount of Vitamin D or sleep. He looked a mess.

"This seat taken?" In the dim light of the bar, after so many drinks, Sam Kirk looked so much like his brother that McCoy's heart twisted painfully in his chest.

He grunted, flagging down the bar tender to order another round. "You're payin'." He said gruffly, ordering his usual.

"Whatever you want, Doc." Sam agreed easily enough. He slid himself onto the stool nect to McCoy's with an enviable grace and ordered his own drink. McCoy drank his spirits neat and Jim's drinking habits had evolved to match. Sam seemed favor rum over whiskey. Neither Kirk brother drank beer, McCoy had noticed. "Here's to Jimmy, wherever he is." Sam raised his glass and matched his toast with a bitter smile.

McCoy's throat burned as he tossed the drink back in one.

"You draw the short straw?" He asked Kirk once again staring into the bottom of his glass.

"Well the Vulcan had his hands full with Archer," Sam said, "and I figured you hate me enough to at least tell me to fuck off instead of ignoring me."

"Fuck off." McCoy said obligingly.

"Too late." Sam said with affected cheer. "We're drinking buddies now."

McCoy finally looked up from his glass and glared at Sam with every fiber of hatred he felt for the man. "You and I ain't buddies. Not now, not ever. I don't care how good your repentant act might be. I know exactly who you are and what you're capable of. The others think you're here for Jim, but we know better, don't we?"

"You really are a paranoid fuck, Doc."

"I'm a paranoid fuck who had to deal with the fallout of your actions you goddamn ass." McCoy spat. "You really think I'll ever forgive you?"

"I really couldn't care less." Sam shrugged his shoulders honestly. "But you'd have thought by now you'd at least be able to pretend to be civil with me."

"it's been three weeks." McCoy snarled brokenly. "Three weeks, and all we know is that Carter Winston is Kodos, and that he's taken Jim off planet." The first had been confirmed by Lenore's blood, the second by the out of signal range feedback McCoy was getting from the nanotech. The last data stream it had reported had said only that Jim was unconscious but as soon as he left the planet he'd been faced with nothing but blank feeds.

The only way he knew Jim wasn't dead was because Kodos clearly had plans for him. That wasn't in any way comforting.

Sam seemed to share his feelings because the cocky facade dropped and he looked as weary as McCoy felt. "I know."

"Then why the hell aren't we doing anything? Weren't you supposed to offer some great insight into that maniac? Weren't you supposed to be useful?"

"What do you want me to say?" Sam asked angrily. "They aren't on Tarsus and I'm not fucking psychic."

"I know." McCoy had been there when Cy had reported in. As soon as the confirmation of Kodos's identity had come through, Spock had been directly on to the pirate with orders to search the whole planet.

He'd come up blank and their one hope had been dashed.

They'd been able to track Kodos to the shuttle he'd used to transport Jim off the planet, but once it left the atmosphere they were off the radar.

Every time they thought they might have gotten a break, the lead had gone cold. Cy called in every favour he was owed, Sam wracked up a whole lot more to pay back, Archer wheeled, dealed, blackmailed and bribed his way through the whose who of politics and every resource Starfleet had was out looking for Jim.

McCoy and Spock had even spoken to the press for Christsake.

They were the triumvirate behind the Enterprise, the cornerstones on which Jim Kirk relied upon to do his best work. They'd pleaded for any leads – McCoy had pleaded, Spock had done that thing with his eyebrows- but nothing had come of it beyond a whole new scandal to occupy the media.

"You're not still playing around with that thing, are you?" Sam looked unimpressed at the PADD McCoy had resting on the bar besides him.

"So what if I am?" He wasn't even sure why he still looked at the data. Maybe Jim's masochism was rubbing off on him. He booted the file, fully expecting to stare at blankness until he reached for his next drink.

Instead he saw something that froze him in shock. He looked closer, then closer still, wondering if perhaps this was just a cruel, drunken hallucination.

But there they were, going crazy as they updated three weeks of data.

The Nanites in Jim's blood were back online.

* * *

"He's on Earth!" McCoy yelled, all but running Chekov over in his haste. "Spock! Get your green blooded ass over here!"

"Doctor?" At his shout, Spock had come running. So had everyone else. In barely seconds, McCoy was surrounded by hopeful faces, all eager for news on their missing captain. McCoy thrust the PADD under Spock's nose. "See?!"

Spock scanned the information, his already expressionless faces closing off entirely as he assessed Jim's condition. There was dead silence in the room as they waited for his response, subconsciously deferring to rank.

"So it would seem." Spock said softly. He glanced at McCoy, his eyes shadowed with hope.

"Why would he keep Jim off the planet for three weeks only to bring him back again?" Sulu asked.

McCoy didn't care. Jim was on Earth. There was nowhere on the surface of the planet they could not be in four hours at the very most. Jim could be home with them by morning. He was almost lightheaded with relief.

It was Sam who answered Sulu's question. "Because once we knew they'd taken him off planet it would be the very last place we would look for him." He said grimly.

"Hiding in plain sight?"

"Pretty much."

"Son of a bitch!" Scott breathed. "Jammy fucking bastard!"

"Is he alive, is he okay?" It was Uhura who asked, her eyes bright with hope. McCoy hesitated. How the hell could he tell them what the information on the screen was showing when his who heart was still stinging from the pain of it? "Leonard?" She sensed his hesitation and clearly imagined the worst.

"He's alright." McCoy hedged. "Physically speaking at least."

"What does that mean?" She demanded.

"Exactly what I said it does." McCoy snapped back angrily. Spock's hand curled over his shoulder, reigning in his anger. He'd done the same to Jim so many times. "I'm sorry." He sighed, rubbing at his eyes.

_God, Jim._

"They've put him on doxacurium." McCoy said, "it's a neuromuscular-blocking agent." He said at their blank expressions. "It's usually used to treat critically ill patients in the ICU."

"Then why use it on Jim?" Scott frowned.

"Because it's a paralytic." McCoy explained. "I guess Kodos wasn't taking any chances with him."

"God." Uhura choked. "That's awful."

McCoy took a breath and let it out slowly. In for a penny…

"That's all they have him on. No sedative, no painkillers." He watched as realization dawned on them, as the burning anger he felt in his own heart came pouring out in waved of hatred. "I don't understand how anyone, even someone as utterly horseshit crazy as Kodos, could do that to someone. It's..." He broke off, shaking his head in disbelief and horror. Three weeks of such imaginable torment. That's what Jim had been enduring while they had all been unable to even justify the air they breathed.

"He's trying to break him." Sam said flatly.

"Seems a little...elaborate?" Sulu frowned. "What happened to the traditional methods?"

Sam shook his head. "This is just the start. Psychological control was always one of his favorites. He talked about learned helplessness and how we could use it in interrogation. You isolate your target, disassociate him psychologically, prey on his feelings of vulnerability and helplessness so that ultimately he's more open to cooperation. Kinda like Stockholm Syndrome on steroids, I guess. It's what he started with Jim on Tarsus. He's taken what worked for him the last time and modified it."

"B-but ze keptain vill resist, no?" Chekov chewed worriedly on his lip. "He is strong."

Sam frowned. "I think if this were any other time, if Kodos were any other man...yes. People have been trying to play head games with Jim for decades, yes, me included," Sam rolled his eyes at McCoy's snarl, "but if he's not in a good place...and Kodos knows him. Probably better than anyone alive."

"That's bullshit." McCoy snapped. He knew Jim.

"No it really isn't. Kodos made Jim. He took a bright, tormented child and crafted him into a weapon. He did the job a little too well, since Jim turned on him, but you never knew the boy Jim was before that asshole got a hold of him. He was shy and he was sweet. Kodos took everything about him that Frank broke and turned him into a force of nature."

"I believe you have things the wrong way around." Spock said coolly before McCoy could explode. "I believe Jim is the extraordinary man we know today _despite_ Kodos, not because of him."

"Believe what you want." Sam shrugged carelessly. "Doesn't change the reality of it."

"Then what's next?" Sulu wanted to know. "If paralyzing a man for three weeks is just the start, what's next?"

"Assuming he's broken through Jim's resistance – which after three weeks I'm guessing he will have done – the next stage is reprogramming. He'll convince Jim that he's to blame for any pain he's in, that Kodos is trying to help him, protect him even. He'll cerement that by doing something to remove or reduce Jim's suffering. I'm certain he kept Jim in that basement for so long just so he could be the one to go down and bring him out." Disgust and hate warred for control of Sam's features. "Here…it could be something as simple as being the one to take him of the drug it'll foster a sense of gratefulness and obligation and, well, since it was Jim's fault Kodos even did that to him in the first place he'll probably be apologetic as well. After that, it's just a case of getting Jim to prove his loyalty somehow. It'll be something big, something bloody, and any part of him that still resists will be crippled by the guilt of it. Kodos will have succeeded in breaking him, and he'll keep him with a cycle of recrimination, manufactured devotion and guilt."

"You know a great deal about the topic." Spock remarked.

"Of course I do." Sam laughed bleakly. "Jim might have been his favorite, but my little brother wasn't his only student. We were all supposed to feed into 31. This was required learning."

"Starfleet condoned this as education?" Scott gawped.

"You should have seen some of the essays they had us write." Sam's smile was razor sharp and nasty.

The implications for Jim hung heavy in the air between them.

"So lets go get the lad back before the bastard has the chance to do anymore harm." Scott said. "Where is he?" McCoy laughed hollowly and slid the PADD over to Scott, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You're havin a laugh. Edinburgh, really?"

"Not like anyone _chooses_ to go to Scotland." Sam said.

Several sets of hands grabbed for Scott and held him down. "Ack, shows what you know ya wee raging psycho. So when are we leavin'?"

"We need a plan of attack." Spock frowned. "We cannot go in there phasers blazing without first establishing more information about the location itself. While he may believe his plan still remains undetected, Kodos will have taken precautions. It cannot simply be a matter of walking into his keep to rescue Jim."

"Who said anything about walking?" Sulu muttered, but still eventually conceded. "Okay, so what's the plan?"

"I believe we take a leaf from Jim's book." Spock said, his cold voice suddenly reminding McCoy that he was glad the Vulcan was on their side.

"We're walking through the front door?" Scott said reluctantly.

"I was thinking more along the lines applying a suitable amount of combustible material to said door before igniting an incendiary."

Sam grinned. "We're blowing the front door _up_. See, now that's a plan I can get behind."

"If we reach Jim in sufficient time, will you be able to counteract the paralytic?" Spock asked McCoy.

McCoy glared at him. "I brought that damn kid back from the dead."

"Fair point." Spock nodded. "Mr Sulu, if you would please prepare the transport. The rest of you have twenty minutes to gather any necessary equipment. We will brief during transport." Spock looked each of them in the eye. "Let's go get our Captain back."


	33. Chapter 33

Yay! Spock gets to play with explosives and Scotty gets to go home. The two things will probably not combine particularly well, but that's half the fun, right?

This part was SO much of a pain. Really great to write since I've been building up to it over the better part of 130k, but at the same time I REALLY hope it lives up to all that I've promised. Again, I did say we'd be deviating from canon, but I do try and keep those deviations still grounded in what _could_ have happened. Sorta. In a way.

I'm going to stop rambling now. But here we go, the Big Reveal. Roll on the exposition! Enjoy!

* * *

Edinburgh Castle had been built on one of two volcanic beds that had been left standing after the Ice Age had hollowed out the valleys that would later form the city. It, and it's twin mound one mile to the south east, stood as looming sentinels over the ancient city. Kings and queens had lived and died in the castle. Governments had risen and been toppled. Armies stationed, religions uprooted, murders covered up. There were thousands of years of history locked up in the many buildings situated in the keep. Now it was a privately owned collection of residences.

The site had been chosen for the castle because of its strong defensive benefits. Kodos had picked it for similar reasons. He had a small army surrounding him. It was a safe, well fortified location, even if it was a little conspicuous.

Having arrived under the cover of darkness that morning, James had already been taken to the suite of rooms that would be his, and it was there Kodos headed after checking that all of his requests had been met.

It felt odd, going by that name again. He'd been Carter Winston far longer than he had ever been Kodos, and that itself wasn't even his real name. There was no one alive who knew that, and he had the Kirk brothers to thank.

But that was going to change. He was going to entrust his secret to just one more person, and in doing so he would finally sway James over to his way of thinking.

It was the final step in a three-stage program, and it would ease James fully into the swing of the second.

He couldn't wait. The last three weeks had been tortuously slow and filled with painful anticipation. He was so excited to see James awake that he doubled the speed of his steps, finally arriving at the door to his rooms. For now, it was coded to the fingerprints of only himself and Doctor Larson. Eventually James would be allowed that control as well.

He'd spent years getting this space together. The wall were painted a soft, pale blue. The furniture was a cool ash wood, and all the gadgets and gizmos James liked to tinker around with stocked up shelves between hard back copies of the books he had loved as a boy.

Kodos was under no illusion that stage two would be speedy and if the boy had to spend a lot of time locked in his rooms he should at least be comfortable. Hadn't he promised as much?

Larson and the nurse fluttered around the bed in the largest room. Larson had started to ease Jim off the paralytic a few hours before they landed. After transferring him from the ship, they had given him a mild sedative so they could remove the various medical paraphernalia James was attached to. The doctor had been meticulous in his explanation to Kodos, no doubt remembering his it felt to have all the fingers on his left hand broken. Kodos had not been in the last bit impressed to hear that there had been no plan to incubate James _before_ he had stopped breathing for himself.

Now though James lay quiet and still on the bed, free from entrapment and tubes. Kodos could see him slowly regaining both consciousness and maneuverability. His fingers twitched and his eyelids fluttered. It would take him time to build up both dexterity and strength after so much time spent immobile, but Kodos could be patient with that if nothing else.

A soft sound escaped James's throat. Kodos glared at the nurse fussing over him. "I thought you said this would not hurt him."

"He," she said with a hateful glare over her shoulder at Larson, "said that."

"The pain is negligible." Larson said calmly.

"And how long will it take the effects to completely wear off?"

"I'd give him five or six hours." Larson shrugged. "His metabolism has slowed the past few weeks thanks to the medication he's on, but it's still a mess and impossible to predict. He'll be incredibly weak for some time and I'd not hold out much hope for fine motor functions for a few weeks."

Kodos nodded. He'd come for more reason than just to check in on the boy though, and set a holo image down on the bedside table, right in James's line of view as soon as he woke. "When you're done, leave him." He ordered.

With one final look back, Kodos turned and left them to it.

* * *

As ordered, Larson and Chapel had left James alone, she far more reluctantly than the doctor. Kodos gave instructions to his chief of staff to have them killed. He had no further use for them now and little interest in keeping loose threads.

With that order given, he went back in search of James.

This time, he was awake.

Jim had his back to him. Sat on the end of the bed, with his head bowed and the hands in his lap clutching the holo Kodos had left behind. Jim didn't flinch at the sound of his arrival, or show any outward sign at all of knowing he was no longer alone. Kodos knew better. His boy was anything but unaware, and his senses were razor sharp after so long under the drug.

Kodos sat down next to him on the bed, not close enough to touch, but still angled to see the holo that dangled in James's limp fingers. He didn't expect physical resistance from the boy. They were beyond that point now. "That was the happiest I ever saw your father." He said. "I imagine it might have been beaten by the look he wore when Sam was born, but I wasn't around to see it. Sam and Win were all George ever talked about. Until they found out she was pregnant with you. They didn't check the sex, wanted it to be a surprise, but your father was head over heels for you for months before you ever took your first breath." Tears rolled slowly down James's cheek. "I've wanted you to have that for years." He said, indicating the holo. "I know you don't have any of the two of them."

"I don't have _any_." James said, his voice small. "Other than Fleet ones. Mom deleted them all and we never took any as a family. Pike took one of the three of us when we were on the _Winchester_, but I never found out what Frank did with it."

"Your mom hated her brother. She would never have allowed you to go to him. She'd have given you to Archer first, and they despised each other."

"Then why?"

"She never wrote a will. He was her next of kin." He could see the way James's jaw clenched in pain, more tears running down his cheeks. He was still so pale, his hair longer than it had been in years. He looked more like the haunted waif of a boy who had so timidly introduced himself on the first day of school than the bold young man who had toppled terrorists and battled Klingons.

"Would...would she have sent us to you?" He asked, shoulders tense, as if he expected the next words to hurt him. Kodos sighed.

"Maybe. I don't know." He aid truthfully. "I wasn't exactly the ideal choice for your carer at that point in my life. It was too dangerous."

"You were with 31." James aid, not guessing.

Kodos smiled, proud. "What makes you say that?"

"That was the whole point of the school, wasn't it? To mold us into perfect little spies and assassins."

"That's a very black and white view of things. I taught you better than that." Kodos said mildly.

Jim didn't look at him, nor did he raise his voice. "You tortured me for weeks. You left me to die."

He cringed at the verbal blow. "It was never my intent to leave you. I wasn't really given much of a choice in the mater. Marcus wanted the situation contained and apparently I wasn't the right person to do the job. I was removed from my position, and the planet. I was so scared that my actions had led to your death."

Still James did not look at him. "Then how come...?"

"Hoshi Sato. She never agreed with our methods and once word got to her what was happening she hounded Marcus day and night. When he failed to take actions to appease her, she went to the press. You can thank her for the fact that anyone knew what had happened there at all. If Marcus had his way, it would have been covered up entirely and you'd most likely be dead."

James screwed his eyes shut tight and his chest shook with a quiet sob. "I thought she..."

"She knew." Kodos said quietly. "Her vision was lacking and short sighted, but she only ever wanted the best for you. She loved you. So do I. I wish you could see that, I really do."

Finally James turned to him, his blue eyes bloodshot and his expression one of a man teetering on the edge. "You butchered thousands of people. You_ tortured me._ I was devoted to you, I'd have done anything you asked of me!"

"But you didn't!" His voice rose in tone to match James's.

"People were dying!"

"People die all the time, James. I was trying to make you strong, _all_ of you. To prepare you to make the tough calls. The ones no one else can make without the weight if it crippling them. You were so close. You _are_ so close."

James shook his head miserably. "I'm not. I'm not like you."

"Aren't you?" Kodos asked. "You'd have fired weapons on the Klingons without a second thought if your XO hadn't talked you down. You first instinct is to fight, to win at any cost, even your own life. You're like me. And you are like your father."

"You know nothing about my father." James snarled brokenly. "He would never have condemned what you did."

"Well you're right, and your wrong. I knew your father better than anyone, certainly better than you. But no, he would not have agreed with what I did. He always looked for the best in people. Usually saw it, too. Why else do you think he married your mother?" Kodos nudged the hand holding the holo and James's fingers tightened around the edge. "George might not have done what I did, but Winona would have."

"No, she wouldn't. She wouldn't have butchered innocent people. She wouldn't have..." Kodos heard the words _hurt me_ even though James never said them.

Kodos shook his head, gently scolding. "James...use that brain of yours. I taught you how. I was part of Section 31. So was she."

"No." James shook his head. "She wasn't."

"She was." Kodos assured him. "How else do you think she was able to get Starfleet to back her crazy crusade? She was 31, and she was training you boys right from the start. How much of what I taught you, of what the Academy taught you, did you already know? She raised you to think like a general, to question like a scientist, to fight like a warrior. What we did together on Tarsus... That was merely fine tuning. Look at the holo, James."

He imagined James wanted to resist, but his eyes strayed without his permission, drinking in the image like a man long denied water. It was a beautiful capture. George in his dress uniform, polished and gleaming under twin suns, his bright, happy face turned to gaze adoringly on the beautiful woman at his side. Winona had surprised them all by actually wearing a dress and the white silk fluttered around her, caught on a light breeze. She'd always been the most stunning woman he'd ever known, but in that moment, basking in George's happiness, she was utterly radiant. On her left, Hoshi Sato smiled proudly while Alexander Marcus even deigned to crack a smile. Standing next to George on his other side, back when he had answered to another name, before surgeons had completely restructured his facial features to hide him from his own actions, Kodos had a hand clapped on the groom's shoulder and another curled around a flute of champagne. It was the Best Man's privilege to sample to alcohol first.

James's tears showed no sign of stopping, but continued in constant, silent waves. Kodos could see the cracks in him tremble violently, ready to break completely. "Did he know?" James asked. "My dad. Did he know?"

"No." Kodos said truthfully. "Shortly after that holo was taken, she quite active service for 31. She'd always been one of the best though. Marcus didn't need persuading to take her back after George died."

James looked up a slowly and nodded his head, seeming drowning under the knowledge he'd long since been denied. It made Kodos wish he'd told the boys when they had first come to Tarsus, but as much as Sam couldn't have been trusted with the information, he'd foolishly wanted James to keep the images of his mother that he guarded so fiercely. He'd been hurt enough by his family. Kodos had not wanted to add to that.

"It's a lot to take in." He said softly. "I'll leave you to your thoughts."

James said nothing as Kodos rose and headed for the door, but he did call out as the code had been entered. "McCoy, is he alive?"

"Yes." Kodos said softly. "Hurting him was never my plan. But he is alive, all of your crew remain unharmed."

"Stay away from them." The words were phrased as a statement, but they sounded like a plea.

"I'm no threat to them, James. The only thing that is is _you_."

His shoulders slumped as the weight of all he had learned and endured finally crashed down on him. "Try rest." Kodos soothed. "I'll be back tonight, we'll talk more then."

"Wait," James called him to a halt. "What's your name? Your real name?"

"April," Kodos said out loud for the first time in nearly two decades, "Robert April."


	34. Chapter 34

Sooooo! How much of the last chapter was the truth and how much was Winston/Kodos/April being a lying liar who lies? See, this is why I said that the whole Jim/Kodos encounters were the hardest stuff I have ever written. Mind games are way tougher to write than beating people up. But still, we are close now! Really close! And once again, I will be carrying things from this over into the next story, but hopefully this chapter will appease those of you who have been wanting _more_ from the last few. More explosions, more emotion, more Spock. You're about to get it in spades. Really big, dramatic, emotional spades.

Enjoy!

* * *

"For the last bloody time, ye cannae lay siege to _Edinburgh bloody Castle_!" Scott wailed dramatically. "Even the English were nay that daft." From the look of his expression, Scott clearly felt their combined intelligence was less than that of an entire nation.

"It's literally been hundreds of years since you guys were at war with each other." Sam Kirk said mildly. "Maybe you should let bygones be-"

"Never!"

This would be the point that Jim would have been pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Spock felt moved to something more destructive. His control was stretched thin and the lightest touch could cause it to snap completely.

Before meeting Jim, he had never understood what it meant to experience the passage of time at a rate contrary to its natural progression. When Jim had been in the coma, those weeks had seemed impossibly long.

These past few weeks had felt even more so. Each second that had passed without progress had been a second Jim had been in Kodos' hands. The weight of that failure was crippling them all.

He was not the only one to feel it. Though the burden of command fell to him, it had been a trying, exhausting year for them all. One hit had followed another and they had never been given the time to come to terms with any of it. Spock recognized the feelings in himself and felt helpless in the knowledge that for his human companions the weariness was even more pronounced.

Nyota, Sulu, Scott and Chekov worked tirelessly without a hint of their usual good humor. Riley assisted them as he could, but seemed to be balanced precariously on the edge of depression and rage. He, of all of them, had the weight of experience to add to the tension they were all experiencing.

Doctor McCoy had imbued more alcoholic beverages than Spock had believed healthy, especially for a man who had been so close to death less than a month prior. Spock was under no illusion that if they failed to rescue Jim, they would lose McCoy to the bottom of a bottle.

It pained him to admit it, but the only thing that could draw them out of their narrow focus was their anger and frustration with Sam Kirk.

"Do you suggest another option, Mr Scott?" Spock said, trying to find his centre of calm.

"How about one that does nay involve blowing the bleedin' door of one of my country's national monuments?"

"Doesn't Jim mean more to you than a door, Scotty?" Nyota said tiredly. Scott's expression twisted in outrage.

"O'course he does!" He spluttered. "And ye better nay think otherwise, but I am _telling_ ye, this is not gonnae work!"

"As reluctant as I am to side with anyone who believes Tribbles are sentient beings," Sam put in, "he does have a point. I'm assuming your plan has a little more too it than just blowing the door off."

Spock wondered if this was how Jim often felt when they all told him he was crazy and what he was intending would never work. If so, he vowed never to be so quick to pass judgement again. It was ever so frustrating.

"You, Mr Scott, will set the explosives at the front entrance."

"Insult to bloody injury!" Scott muttered under his breath. Spock ignored him.

"Mr Sulu, how is your climbing?" Sulu's wide grin said everything. "Excellent. You shall scale the cliff face at the south-east point. Once the explosion is triggered, I estimate you will have less than four minutes to reach the summit before you are left exposed to the patrol."

"It's a fifteen minute climb." Sulu said, not protesting or complaining, merely stating the fact.

"Which is why I trust you will make every second count." Spock said genuinely. Sulu nodded his head. "Once there, you will need to make your way to the central security hub and deactivate the shielding system. I appreciate that I am placing the weight of our success on your shoulders, however-"

"Jim Kirk once threw himself into a half mile free fall on the _off chance_ he might catch me." Sulu said grimly. "I will not fail."

Spock nodded his appreciation. "Once the shields are down, Chekov, you will beam the three teams into the complex. The nanotechnology Jim is carrying provide an accuracy of one quarter mile. From there, it is a matter of sweeping the buildings one at a time. Once you have located Jim, put out a call comms. wide. Chekov-"

"I beam zem out of ze site to our current location, then ve vill piggyback on Mester Scott's equation directly to ze Embassy." Chekov provided promptly.

"Indeed." Spock said, pleased. "We shall all be armed, though our phasers will be set to stun."

"Speak for yourself." Sam muttered.

Spock glanced up at him. "You will set your phaser to stun, or you will not accompany us." Sam rolled his eyes but said no more. "Our priority is Jim, however if any of you encounter Kodos you are to shoot on sight. It is imperative he not escape the scene before he can be taken into custody. Should he escape, I firmly believe he will make attempts to abduct Jim once more."

"Shoot the bastard, sounds good to me." Scott agreed.

"Very well." Spock stood, and they all followed. "Be cautious, be alert. I need not remind you what is at stake here should we fail."

He need not at all. The weight of that responsibility fell heavily upon them. They would bring Jim back to them safely, or they would all die trying.

* * *

Spock felt McCoy's nerves emanating from him in waves. He and the doctor were to beam together as one of the three teams. Nyota and Riley were a second, while Sam Kirk would join up with Sulu to make the third. Scott would keep the security patrols occupied as long as he could, but had a trigger word that, when spoken, would alert Chekov to the need to beam him out safely.

Assuming, of course, that Sulu was successful.

The sheer brazenness of what the young pilot was attempting to do was something Jim would have readily endorsed, then just as readily announced that he would take the dangerous task himself. It called for stealth, strength, and above all, speed. Scott could not keep up the distraction for long without endangering himself, and Sulu could not be caught out on the surface of the rock without being utterly exposed and without protection.

For precautions sake, Sam had a rifle trained on the summit of the cliff face, ready to bring down anyone who might either raise the alarm or fire upon Sulu as he climbed. From there, he was also able to alert them all to any movement in the vicinity.

Dressed in black, Sulu crept as close as he could to the base of the cliff, avoiding the security measures in place on the ground. They had been designed to keep out thieves and undesirables. They were not designed to keep the crew of the _Enterprise _from her Captain.

"_Ack, I cannae bloody believe I'm doin' this_." Scott moaned through the comm. "_Jim Kirk, you wee bastard, if this is nay good enough proof of how much ya mean to me then ye can kiss my hairy white –_"

The explosion was both deafening and attention grabbing, illuminating the night sky as flames climbed several hundred feet into the air.

Sulu was already off and making good headway before Spock was even able to catch sight of him.

Besides him, Nyota reached over and squeezed his hand. "Don't lose control." She warned him in a whisper quiet voice. "No matter how bad it is, keep it together until he is safe."

"And if he has been taken from us?" Spock asked, equally as grave.

Her eyes were dark and filled with all the agony of the last year. When they had first been courting, he never would have imagined that they could hold such deep levels of hate. "Then we'll send them all to hell."

* * *

It was the longest seventeen point five minutes Spock had experienced, but out of nowhere, Sulu's voice rang clear in their ears. "_It's done."_

They were being beamed into the site less than a second later, and as soon as the momentary disorientation had faded, they were off in their pairs.

They all had schematics of the site, taken directly from the developer and patched through to eyewear they all wore. Small and unobtrusive, it allowed the correlation and relay of data without obscuring their vision.

Spock and McCoy moved quickly. They had the largest area to sweep and spared no second of hesitation. Phasers out, they fired on everything that moved, be they security members or other civilians who lived in the compound. Spock felt no remorse in shooting unarmed civilians. Better they be unconscious and out of the way, less likely to walk into more harm should things between them and Kodos escalate.

McCoy was a surprisingly good shot, but then he claimed to have had Jim as a teacher. He also showed none of the restraint Spock had feared he might. As a doctor, his first instinct was to cause no harm. Clearly that was trumped by his feelings for Jim.

"_Shit_,"Sulu's voice came through the comm, sounding calm, but irritated. "_we're taking heavy fire here. Shield's back online."_

"Do you require backup?" Spock demanded, seeing McCoy tense at the prospect of abandoning the search.

"_Negative," _Sulu said, _"we'll handle it. Keep looking."_

"You must get the shield offline," Spock said. "We have no hope of beaming Jim out otherwise."

"_Working on it. I'll keep you updated. Sulu out."_

"So we have no getaway vehicle, great." McCoy grumbled as they entered the last building on their grid. So far they had seen no sigh of either Jim, nor Kodos, but something about this last place felt different."

"We do have more explosive devices." Spock pointed out.

"I swear Jim's rubbing off on you." McCoy muttered. "The last thing we need are _three _pyromaniacs. Him and Scotty are bad enough."

Spock ignored him. They moved together through the building, clearing rooms one by one.

As they entered one large room, stark white and occupied, Spock had a moment of surprise at the sight of Christine Chapel staring down the barrel of a phaser, defiance in her eyes.

He fired on her attackers without hesitation.

"Christine?" McCoy said, bewildered. "What the hell?"

Chapel grabbed a phaser from one of the unconscious men and turned it on her companion, who was cowering behind her. "You took your fucking time. Three weeks, you couldn't have come any sooner?" She snapped, her hair a wild mess and her eyes ringed with exhaustion. "He's upstairs, fifth door on the left."

There were too many questions that needed to be asked and no time to ask them. He skipped to the pertinent ones. "Is Kodos with him?"

"The deranged psychopath? No idea." She said truthfully.

McCoy moved past him, whipping out his hypo and advancing on the cowering man. "You the shithead who gave Jim the doxacurium?" He snarled at the man who, on closer inspection, wore a doctor's uniform.

"That would be him." Chapel confirmed.

McCoy viciously stabbed him in the neck with the hypo and he went down with a thud. "Don't worry." He said nastily. "It won't stop you breathing. Unlike you, I actually know what the hell I'm doing. I'd say you've got about twelve hours of total helplessness ahead of you. _Enjoy_."

Spock found himself in full support of the doctor's highly unethical actions.

McCoy then rounded on Chapel. "Don't know how much you've got to do with this. I'd like to give you the benefit of the doubt, but too many people have betrayed us lately and frankly, I don't have the time."

She went down with a single shot of his phaser, but he caught her carefully and laid her on the floor before activating her comm. and sending Chekov the coordinates. "When we go, beam her up as well." He ordered, charging past Spock in the direction they had been given.

"Doctor, wait!" Spock called after him. So much for a tactical clearance of the building, he thought grimly, racing after McCoy's retreating form.

Spock rushed into the room the doctor entered, spotting McCoy's hunched figure behind the bed. He was speaking very softly, but Spock could make out the words with little effort and doubled his speed after hastily securing the door behind himself.

On the other side of the bed he found McCoy, and wedged into the corner of the room, his eyes wide and empty, his cheeks stained with tears, sat Jim. He looked like a man who had been dragged down to hell and lacked the energy or will to free himself.

Spock had seen Jim hurt so many times now, seen him bloody and bruised, and then of course at the moment of his death. He'd seen what lay behind the bright, shining persona Jim allowed the world to see: he'd seen the man Jim really was.

There wasn't even that much left of him, and the sharp stab of terror he felt could only have come from the fear that they were too late. They had found Jim, but could they still save him?

"Jim," McCoy pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "Come on kiddo, it's me. It's your Bones."

Jim blinked, but it did not bring any life back to his eyes. "You shouldn't be here, Bones." He said softly.

McCoy made a choked sound in his throat. "Where else would I be, Jim?" He asked earnestly.

"You shouldn't have come. You'll get hurt again."

McCoy reached out his hand and Jim flinched back. Spock felt a wave of sympathy for the doctor as McCoy curled his fingers back sharply. "I'm fine, Jim." He promised. "I'm fine, and I will always come for you. We're family, Jim. You, me, the hobgoblin...your crew."

"That doesn't mean anything." Jim whispered brokenly.

"Sure it does." McCoy said earnestly. "Means we look out for each other."

"Not mine." Jim responded.

"Yeah, well we're different." McCoy pleaded. His accent was thicker than Spock had ever heard it, laced with promise and upset. "When those jerks hassled Uhura in that bar on Risa, you and Sulu didn't even give her the time to stick up for herself before you floored them. When Archer refused to let Scotty on the Enterprise, you risked everything you ever wanted just to get him there and you did it again to save Spock from that damn volcano." McCoy reached forwards again, slow and gentle, fully expecting Jim to bolt. "When we found out Joanna was stuck on Cerberus, you practically OD'd just so you could get the clearance to take me to her. That's you, Jim. You treating us like your family."

The tear that rolled down Jim's cheek was slow and desperate and it burned Spock like acid. Human tears had always distressed him, but Jim's left him feeling raw and bleeding. Despite that, McCoy seemed to take them as a positive sign and he pushed onwards, ending just a little closer.

"And Jim, we'd do the same for you. Spock practically beat Khan the genetically-enhanced-asshole to death for what he did to you; Chekov thinks you invented warp physics just for him to play with; you keep Scotty sane and keep Sulu from killing us all in our sleep. My daughter idolizes you and hasn't been able to sleep without her Uncle Jim around to tell her a bedtime story-" Jim's face twisted into a quiet sob. "Spock…you make Spock remember he's not just half hobgoblin but half human too. And Jim," McCoy finally curled his hand around Jim's knee. "We fought Death itself to keep you here, and I'm an even worse loser than you are. We're not giving you up. Not to Khan, not to Starfleet, certainly not to Kodos."

"There is only one thing that you could possibly say that would ever make us leave you, Jim." Spock added quietly. Both humans looked at him, one with empty, haunted eyes, another with the stirrings of violence. "If you asked us to leave you because that is what you truly wanted…if you desire above all else to be left alone…it would break our hearts, to coin a human phrase, but we would see it done. Do you want that, Jim?" Spock asked gently. "Do you truly wish us to leave you alone?"

The shake of Jim's head was infinitesimal, but it was there, and it was all McCoy needed to use his grip on Jim's knee to pull him closer and a second later Spock had to brace the weight of two distraught humans. Jim collapsed against McCoy, shaking violently. It seemed to provide as much comfort for McCoy to hold him as Jim felt being held and the two clutched each other close.

Spock kept one hand braced on McCoy's back, helping him support Jim, and the other on Jim's arm, feeling the tremors that ran through his body.

"I'm sorry." Jim sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"You have done nothing that requires an apology." Spock gentled him.

Jim peered up at him from where he was pressed to McCoy's shoulder. Spock was so grateful to see something other than the blank look in his eyes that the deep, echoing pain in them was almost welcome. "I have." Jim said brokenly. "So many things. So many people hurt because of me."

"That ain't true, Jimmy." McCoy whispered. "Whatever he told you, whatever he said…he's lying. None of this is your fault. It's never been your fault."

Jim shook his head hopelessly. "You don't know what I-"

"Then tell us." Spock broke in. "Let us in, Jim. Let us help you. Tell us what you fear the most, and when we neither turn our back on you, nor falter in our dedication, perhaps you will finally believe us when we say that you are the best man we know."

Jim shook his head. "I can't."

"Jim," McCoy pleaded, but Jim continued to shake his head almost frantically.

"I _can't."_

Spock thought he understood. He spared only a second to think about what it was he was about to do, and how it would effect all three of them. He found the risks were more than outweighed by the potential gains.

"Then show us." He said quietly.

That was enough to stop Jim's frantic shaking as he looked up at Spock with wide, tear filled eyes. "I-"

"Vulcan Voodoo." McCoy muttered under his breath. The very corner of Jim's mouth turned upwards, barely noticeable if you weren't doing what Spock was, and drinking in every nuance in the hope of finding something they could use to bring him back to them.

He half expected Jim to protest. To refuse or stammer out excuses, but as Jim trustingly tilted up his head, offering Spock access to the meld points he would require, Spock wondered if perhaps this was it. This was the end of the line for Jim. He was right: he could not run any longer.

No more hiding. No more fighting. No more being alone, for any of them.

Spock touched the curve of McCoy's brow with one hand, and placed the other very gently against Jim's face. He gave them both a moment to reconsider and marveled at the trust they placed in him.

Tangled up in each others limbs, broken open by pain, grief and loss, they clutched at each other desperately, and at Spock's words, tumbled together into the darkness of Jim's mind.


	35. Chapter 35

You know, I am utterly terrified! This is either going to work and be awesome, or fail spectacularly and I will have to grovel. The Mind Meld Chapter! You know, this was a trope I thought about doing for ages, but couldn't for the life of me figure out how to pull it off when Jim's such a secretive SOB. Hopefully, _hopefully_ it works. Or I could have miss aimed entirely! The one thing I never could understand was why mind melds often had Spock portrayed as an external observer to events. It didn't make sense to me, and since they are in Jim's head, I always felt things would be seen through Jim's eyes. So yes, Spock's POV through Jim's memories. I had originally written this part from McCoy's POV, but since so much of what happened to Jim and what he is feeling is completely illogical, I figured it would actually be a better use for character development if it was written from Spock's. So yes. And be warned. This chapter is graphic and unpleasant at times. This is sort of the abridged version of Jim's life and while I struggled with how much to reveal, I always felt that this would be the place where the truth came out, so to speak. He's never going to heal, or have the chance to try, while he kept some of these feelings secret – too self destructive.

But after all that doom and gloom, thank you again for all your thoughts and encouragement. You're a seriously inspiring bunch! I promise you'll find out what the others are up to very shortly, Kodos will play his hand, Sam will do something very Sam like, and yes, Spock and McCoy might rethink their idea to go poking around in Jim's head right in the middle of a rescue op. I swear, those boys are idiots when it comes to one another.

Can you tell I'm nervous?

* * *

Spock was McCoy was Jim. The three of them fit together in perfect sync, one consciousness, one mind. They could feel Jim's agonizing hurt and the way he felt as if he'd been hollowed out, scraped raw by a dull blade. They could feel McCoy's fear and helplessness, his desperation to undo a lifetime of hurts. They could feel Spock's conflict and confusion, the anger that never really let him know peace, and the cold certainty that he would destroy any who tried take them away from each other.

Spock was not adept at providing comfort, but he did know how to guard. He took McCoy's experience of dealing with Jim's wounds and his own fierce protectiveness and cast both around themselves in an invisible shield as they tumbled through the torrent of Jim's mind.

Beautiful, dynamic and utterly chaotic, Jim's mind was as impossible to navigate as his thought process. They were at the mercy of his memories, and it seemed that Jim was holding nothing at all back from them.

Spock was McCoy was Jim. He was three years old and couldn't understand why his mom never looked at him the way she did Sam. He was five, and he knew it was something about him that was wrong, so he tried to be good, to be quiet and do as he was told. The few times that worked and she looked at him like she did Sam he thought were the very best moments in his life.

Then he was ten, and he learned what cruelty felt like for the first time. He'd not been trying to be bad, he'd just been bored, but he'd wandered off by himself and bad people, the type of people his mom had warned him about, had carried him away. He tried not to cry when they let him talk to his mom, but he just wanted to go back to the ship and hide away from everyone.

Spock was ten, and he learned that despite his fears, his mom really did love him. She was defiant and beautiful when she came to save him, and when they killed her, he felt the blast all the way down to his bones. They left him with her body, no use for him once the job was done, and he stayed by her side for hours until Captain Barnett found him and pulled him away. He cried so much, he didn't think he'd ever be able to cry again.

That was both parents he'd gotten killed, now.

Spock was ten and on Earth for the first time. There was too much open space and the farm Frank lived on seemed to stretch on forever. Sam didn't say two words to him in over a month, and he was so lonely. He was at school for the first time, but he'd never spent any time with other children, and he found them slow and boring. His one silver lining was Chris, who always responded to Spock's comms and shared stories of the stars he so desperately missed.

Spock was eleven, and Sam had left. He was angry, and he was hurt, and he was tired of being good all the time. His first rebellion was huge and terrifying, but he suddenly got what it meant to actually feel alive. Frank had already hit him a few times, but he didn't care. He skipped school – wasn't like he learned anything there – and spent more time exploring the strange world his parents had come from, any excuse to keep him out of the house.

Spock was eleven, and hiding in his closet. Frank was home early, and he was drunk. He'd stopped slapping him with open palms and moved on to his fists and his belt. The bruises were still sore and tender beneath his clothes, and he knew he had to stay quiet. He did, for three hours, long enough to be sure Frank had passed out on the couch like always. When he finally felt safe, he crawled out of the closet and huddled under his sheets, feeling more alone than ever.

Spock was eleven, and Frank hadn't passed out this time, and he didn't beat him either. He wasn't sure what he was doing at first, not until he was sobbing and begging Frank to stop.

Spock was twelve and he couldn't do it again. He'd recognized the patterns now, knew how to tell angry, violent drunk apart from that kind of drunk. When Frank came upstairs this time, he fought back.

Spock was twelve, and Frank had nearly killed him. He woke up in a hospital with bright white sheets and Chris Pike looking almost as pale. "God, Jim. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I didn't know. He can't hurt you any more, I swear it. You're safe now, you're safe." He didn't believe Chris. He wanted to, desperately, but he didn't.

Spock was twelve and Chris lost the case to adopt him. Chris couldn't look him in the eye, and he couldn't stand it when Chris tried to touch him. They parted brokenly and he doubted they'd ever fix it.

Spock was twelve and being sent off planet again. For a few weeks, he was back in space, safe, and no one bothered him. He was going to stay with his aunt and uncle, the pretty nurse at the hospital had said. He knew he didn't have an aunt, and his only uncle was Frank. When he was put on a Starfleet ship, he said nothing.

Spock was twelve, and Tarsus IV was everything he'd ever dreamed of. The teachers at his school understood him and challenged him, and the other children there weren't slow or boring at all. He felt like he was learning for the first time and he drank everything up hungrily. He was top of the class, but he'd fought for it, and for the first time he felt like he might actually be worth something. The head of the school smiled at him, proud and happy, the way Chris had sometimes smiled and his mom never had. Kodos was everything he wanted to be. Tall and strong and smart, and he liked him, he called him his favorite. And…and he knew about Frank. What Frank had done, what he'd made him do. He knew, and he didn't look at him with disgust, but taught him how to use all the bad, hurtful thoughts and feelings in his head to be the very best. He followed him around like a lost puppy, desperate for any scrap of affection thrown his way, and when Kodos asked if he was ready to commit, to get strong and never let anyone hurt him again, he almost wept with hope.

Spock was thirteen. Thirteen was a bad year. The famine struck quickly, but he didn't notice at first. Kodos cared for all of them, and they never went hungry, not in the first few weeks. It was only a few months in that he heard the whispers and saw the hollow, gaunt faces in the town. Then he and the others in his class were taken into the square, surrounded by guards for their protection, and Kodos uttered the words that would haunt his every sleep.

"_The revolution is successful. But survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well-being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV."_

Spock was thirteen, and he did nothing but watch in stunned horror as the guards turned their weapons on the gathered crowds and gunned them down without remorse. Seven hundred people, all murdered in one bloody afternoon, the first of just many. Kodos had sentenced four thousand people to death. The remaining number were hunted down, collected together like cattle and put to death in the streets. Sometimes it was quick – merciful, Kodos said – sometimes it wasn't. Sometimes Kodos wanted to send a message out to those still resisting or in hiding. He burned and he eviscerated his way through entire families, and took him with him when he did it. "It hurts us to do this James, your tears do you no shame, but it is on us to protect the colony. We must be stronger than they are, we must shoulder the weight of their survival."

Spock was thirteen, and he remembered what it felt like to rebel. First it was small. Begging Kodos to let Tommy live after his family had been butchered and his eye ripped out in punishment. He sent out pleas for help every night, knowing that most, if not all of them, would never make it to their intended targets. The sabotaged patrol schedules, he destroyed weapons and barracks, and then when he was racing home after a night of rebellion, he saw guards surrounding a small, sobbing child who clutched at his dead mother the way he had clutched at his. He didn't think, didn't even realize what he'd done until after he had done it, but an hour later he was racing through the forest with Kevin Riley in his arms and the blood of three men under his fingernails. It took hours to scrub clean and he barely made it to breakfast with Kodos on time. He didn't eat much and hadn't for a while, but he snuck his food away and smuggled it out that night to Kevin. The little boy sobbed with gratitude, and he felt sick. He kept Kevin hidden, snuck food out to him, and very shortly he was adding to the children he cared for, finding orphans and runaways in the streets he crept thought at night. One became five, became twenty, then sixteen. It was harder, smuggling out enough for so many and their rapidly diminishing frames wracked his heart with shame and failure. He took more risks, became more daring. Protecting those children was his only goal, and he did anything he needed to keep them safe.

Spock was thirteen, and exhausted. Thirteen, and no match for Kodos. They caught him one night, too many of them to fight and too rough with him for escape. He told himself he could be brave. That he would never tell where the children were, that Kodos could do nothing to him that Frank had not already done. But Kodos looked at him with betrayal in his eyes, and he trembled with the weight of what he'd done, so confused as he looked up at the man who had only ever shown him kindness and care, but who hid such horrifying cruelty. "I think," Kodos had said, "I understand why your uncle treated you the way he did. You break my heart, James." He raised his chin defiantly. He could do this. He could endure anything for the kids.

Spock was thirteen and stupid. Kodos wasn't Frank. He beat him brutally, but that was just the start. He dragged him down beneath the school, to the basement where it was cold and so dark, and chained him up like an animal. He trembled, so afraid. But that was it. For a whole day, nothing happened to him. Then the process began again. He was beaten, he was left in the dark. He had no way of knowing how long he'd been there, but hunger made him lightheaded and he was so thirsty it felt like his throat was bleeding. He could hear rats in the basement and see no further than a few inches in front of his nose. The cycle continued until he was too weak to even cry, then one day it wasn't Kodos coming down to visit him, but some of his guards. They were soft spoken and gentle, and spoon fed him a meat broth with careful hands. He cried the way Kevin had cried and ate the whole bowl before lapping at the water they gave him. Such unexpected kindness left him almost as dizzy as the hunger, right up until they started to laugh at him. "We found your friends, the ones that you hid away. Don't worry, we put them down cleanly, put them to good use." They stared down meaningfully at the empty bowl and laughed as he threw up its contents in horror. They continued to laugh as they stripped him of his clothes and would have laughed much longer had Kodos not killed them all. "Hush, James, I'm here. You're alright. I won't let them hurt you." He heard the words but not the meaning, his mind crumbling under a fresh wave of horror. "Are you ready to come home now?" Kodos asked him. He could not respond either way, so Kodos left him again, surrounded by the bodies of the guards, in the dark, with the rats. Kodos did not come back.

Spock was fourteen and still alive. He was back on Earth, tucked under the soft, warm blankets of SFG's pediatric ward. People would come and talk to him every day. Did he remember who saved him? Could he tell them where Kodos went? He didn't, and he couldn't, and his days were filled with well meaning people who all wanted to help him. He did not want to be helped. He'd sent Chris Pike running, unable to stand the broken look on his face when he sat at his side. He didn't want Pike's pity, didn't deserve it, and a small, bitter part of him knew that if Pike had fought for him, he'd never have gone to Tarsus. He said as much and broke Pike's heart. Hoshi-san did not break so easily. He was in the hospital for another three months, and with Hoshi-san for three more. She was kind to him, not commenting on his mood swings, not pushing him when he hid himself away in his room, or slept outside in the garden under the stars. She was gentle, but firm, and after a while, she wanted him to go back to school. The idea filled him with disgust. He hated the people of this stupid planet, who had no idea how children sounded when they were cut from their mother's arms, or what burning flesh smelled like. They were ignorant and stupid and so privileged he wanted to scream. He couldn't go to school with them. He could barely stand to walk on the same streets as them.

Spock was fourteen, and he ran. He'd spent his childhood on ships; he knew how to stay hidden. He jumped ship at Starbase 4 then all the way through the Orion system to Risa. His mom had had friends there, but none of the were pleased to see him. He ran errands for club owners and learned that alcohol made him a little less raw, a little less angry, and he got into one scrape after another until he was fifteen.

Then Spock met Cy and his crew. They were an odd bunch, but he had a purpose on that ship and the crew taught him everything Kodos hadn't. He learned how to use the things he'd hated about himself to his benefit. Most of all, he learned how to smile, even if he didn't mean it.

Then Spock was eighteen, and he knew if he didn't leave the _Gynt _then, he never would. They'd become his comfort blanket and his security. If he wanted, he need never go back out into the world again. He could just stay on the ship, with the engines and the reactor and he'd not have to worry. A part of him wanted it desperately. That was why he left.

Spock was nineteen, twenty, doing things he never imagined doing for the type of credits he'd never need. He had a specific skill set that saw him quickly employed as he bounced from one cause that was not his own to another, assimilating languages and cultures at a rate of knots before moving on, the credits going on weapons and alcohol and nothing much else. It was as far from safe as possible, and he enjoyed it more than he should, until one day he was sweeping a building in a city caught in the middle of a civil war he didn't even know the cause of, and he came across three children, huddled and scared and utterly alone. The youngest cried, the oldest pleaded with him, said he could do whatever he wanted, _take_ whatever he wanted, so long as he left the little ones alone, _please. _He took them out of the city, gave them transport and credits and anything else he had, then found the first bar he could and didn't sober up for three weeks.

Spock was twenty and back on Earth. He was twenty, and felt like he'd lived five lifetimes already. He planned on being there for one day, just long enough to see Chris and Hoshi-san and convince himself that not everything he touched turned to ash.

Spock was twenty, and going to jail. Turned out he couldn't even last one day on Earth. In his defense, he didn't think he could recall the last time he'd spent in civilized company, and the men here didn't laugh it off when you broke their jaws. They gave him eighteen months, and he didn't protest.

Twenty two, and it was his first day as a free man. Jail wasn't bad, not really. He'd spent time in worse places. He caught up on the gaps in his education, befriended cons, honed his card skills. He had no intention of spending any more time on the planet, despite the trip back to Iowa had need to take, and to hell with his parole officer.

Spock was twenty two, and should probably never drink again. Joining Starfleet? What the ever loving _fuck_? The classes, the physically demanding drills...those things didn't worry him, but he really didn't know if he had the discipline to make it through the first week, let alone three years.

Twenty two was older than most of the other cadets, even ones with his ambitious timetable. There was one guy who was though, and he'd already thrown up on his only boots. When he sprained his ankle in PT, his instructor ordered him to the clinic, and the same grumpy bastard was there, bossing Spock around, not listening to his bullshit, not giving a damn about his protests, but was still somehow the most concerned anyone has been about him since Hoshi-san. He bumped into him a few more times, in the canteen, in the cadet bar, and then on the field in their basic combat training class. He called him Bones and stuck close by. Bones was strong and fit, but he had no idea how to hold a phaser and as a medic, he'd have been the first person he would have taken out in combat.

Spock was twenty three, still at the Academy, and had, somehow, gotten married without realizing it. How else could he explain the fact that he lived with someone he wasn't sleeping with and spent a good majority of his time being bitched at? Bones fussed like no one he had ever know, and while a large part of him found it irritating as hell, another part secretly liked that Bones clearly cared about him. And didn't want anything from him except a drinking buddy and someone he could copy from in Warp Theory.

Twenty four. He was top of his class and people stopped double taking at his name. He had hobbies, and he knew hundreds of people by name, face and specialization. He had a friend for the first time in his life, and a small, dark haired little angel who called him Uncle Jim and looked at him like he was her hero. He was happy. He was content. He was...

Twenty five, and stowing away on yet another ship. He was just a cadet now, bound by rules and red tape that he could barely navigate when his life wasn't in danger.

Spock was twenty five and still defiant, still reckless, still fighting against the no win scenario.

At twenty six, he was Captain, and for the first time in his life he felt like he fit. He loved his ship, every single inch of her. He loved his crew more than he ever thought was possible, and he knew without a doubt he'd do anything, _anything_ to keep them all safe.

Twenty six, and he learned that that there are new ways to hurt that he never even imagined. Chris was gone, and his whole world fell apart around him.

Twenty six, and he couldn't even die right.

Twenty six, and he was so, so tired.

Twenty six, and he was being hurt again.

Twenty six, and he nearly got his best friend killed.

Twenty six and scared.

Twenty six and alone.

Twenty six and utterly helpless.

Twenty six and back with Kodos.

Twenty six, just as bad as thirteen.

Twenty six, _and then they came for him_.

Spock was McCoy was Jim and they were tangled up in each others thoughts.

Spock broke the connection, his heart pounding in his side. He shook with the weight of Jim's memories, stunned by the senselessness of so much of what he had endured and filled with the knowledge of how many times he nearly lost Jim before they had ever even met.

He desperately needed space to ground himself, to find his control. It had been ripped away from him and he felt he might have floated away in the sea of Jim's pain had McCoy not grabbed a hold of them both, dug in his heels and wept the way Spock couldn't and Jim didn't know how.

The Vulcan in him wanted distance. The human knew that to pull back now would be delivering a wound to Jim's battered heart that might cause fatal hemorrhaging.

Jim hung in McCoy's arms, stunned and dizzy, his blue eyes locked on Spock's with a tentative mixture of shame and hope. McCoy clung to him hard enough to surely hurt, the only words he uttered a not so unfamiliar "Damnit, Jimmy."

Spock had his arms around them both. They had lived a lifetime in Jim's head, but in reality only minutes had passed. He heard Sulu's voice on the comms and knew he needed to call in. But first, Jim.

His Captain blinked tiredly and in an instant Spock saw him at ten, at thirteen, at twenty. He felt the emotions Jim had felt, the things he had seen and heard and felt and knew it would take him weeks, months perhaps, to assimilate it all. McCoy would need similar, and Jim… but perhaps, Spock thought, they might all be able to heal together.

"Now you know." Jim said, his voice broken.

"Now we know." Spock agreed. He touched McCoy's shoulder gently, stilling the man's broken sobs and pulling him to his feet. McCoy was shaky, and Jim lacked the strength to do more than cling to them for balance. "And now," Spock added, meeting Jim's eyes and trying to find in himself the compassion his mother had taught him, "now, it is time for all of us to go home."

"Damn right." McCoy sniffled, rubbing his blotchy face with the back of his hand. "And you can kiss goodbye to any thoughts of hiding away from us you impossible brat. Jo, the hobgoblin and I are gonna be glued to your hip for the next _century_."

The surprise and growing wonder in Jim's eyes was glorious to behold. He nodded shakily. "Think I'd be okay with that." He admitted.

McCoy gave a familiar grumble and they both had an arm around Jim for support. "Good. I vote we camp out at your place. You couch is better than mine."

"My couch is pretty epic." Jim said in a small voice, the edge of a smile touching his lip.

"It's ergonomic design is most suited to-"

"Shut up, Spock." McCoy growled for effect, sharing a relieved glance over Jim's shoulder and almost missing Jim stumbling to a halt. His sharp, terrified intake of breath did not go unnoticed, however.

"Well now," Kodos leaned in the doorway to Jim's room, a phaser clutched casually in one hand. "This is all very touching, isn't it?"


	36. Chapter 36

I'm so happy the last part worked for you guys! Phew! I can stop freaking out about it now. I know there have been lots of very varying requests for how Kodos should be dealt with. Let's just say there's a looooong line of people waiting to get their hits in, and after the epic angst of the last few chapters, I figured the solution was a nice dose of Spock and Bones banter. Actually, I think that might just be my solution to everything. If in doubt, add sass! And, you know, emotional whiplash.

* * *

McCoy, despite being a man of many passions and deep emotions, had never before understood the term 'blinded by rage', but as looked across the room at Winston/Kodos…Robert fucking April, if Jim's memory was telling him the truth, he almost couldn't see the man properly for the red haze of anger.

He suddenly had to brace against Jim's entire weight as Spock shifted, a half step forwards that should have scared Kodos a whole lot more than it did.

Jim's memories were still fresh in his mind, raw as if they were only minutes old instead of years and as painful as if they were his own. He looked at this man and didn't see the way his face had been altered, only the ways in which he had tortured a man McCpy loved as much as his own daughter. And it had been torture. The physical wounds Kodos had inflicted on Jim had been nothing compared to the damage he had done to Jim's heart and soul. He'd violated Jim's mind as brutally as Frank had violated his body, and McCoy _hurt_ with the need to rip him apart.

"Ah, none of that." Kodos warned as Spock made to move.

"You do not have the speed to kill us both." Spock said, his voice deceptively mild.

"Maybe not," Kodos agreed. "But I _can_ kill James and I don't think either of you would like that." He turned the phaser on Jim and McCoy felt a wide, wicked grin stretch across his face. Well that was a goddamn stupid move to make.

McCoy felt Jim shift against him, trying to find the energy and strength to fight, to save himself as he'd always had to.

McCoy gently but firmly held him back. There might have been something to be said about letting a victim face their attacker, to prove to themselves that they were strong and they could move beyond what had been done to them.

But Jim was strong, and he'd been saving himself since he was just a little boy. He didn't need to prove that to anyone. If McCoy and Spock were to stand back and do nothing, Jim would, somehow, find a way to do the impossible. Everyone, even Jim, knew that.

McCoy had been in Jim's head. The things he had seen and felt only strengthened the love, admiration and respect he had for his friend. It had also given him an insight he'd long been missing.

Jim didn't need to face Kodos down.

He needed to be shown that there were people who loved him, who would always come for him, who would stand between him and harm as no one ever had. And who would, without hesitation or remorse, tear apart anyone who hurt him.

So McCoy smiled at the phaser pointed at Jim's chest. "Spock?"

"Doctor?"

"You wanna do the honors?" He asked, his grin widening even more.

"It would be," Spock said, the mild manners slipping beneath something cold, hard and terrifyingly primal, "my pleasure."

Kodos didn't know what hit him.

McCoy was shouldering practically all of Jim's weight, his arms wrapped around his friend while Jim stared in shock at the scene unfolding before their eyes.

Spock had moved fast, faster than McCoy had ever seen anything move, and in a smooth collection of movements, knocked the phaser from Kodos' grip, backhanded him hard across the face – it must have felt to him the way it had felt when Kodos had done the same to Jim – and hoisted him off the ground by his throat.

"Oh my god." Jim breathed, stunned to see the monster of his nightmares so easily beaten by his implacable First Officer.

"You know when I told you Spock nearly killed Khan with his bare hands?" McCoy said mildly, taking vicious delight in the way Kodos' legs kicked in the air and the frantic bulge of his eyes. "Really wasn't exagerating." He said. "Pacifists my ass. Sneaky Vulcans."

"He's gonna kill him." Jim breathed, half hope, half concern.

"Negative." Spock said, not even slightly out of breath. "I will choke him until he is unconscious, at which point the doctor will revive him and I will repeat the process again."

"For how long?" Jim asked, his eyes impossibly wide.

"Until I feel less inclined to rip open his throat and watch him bleed to death."

"You're gonna be here a while then, you know that right?" McCoy said, shifting his grip on Jim's waist. The combination of his prior ill-health and three weeks of paralysis had left him as weak and shaky as a child, but he was still a tall, broad shouldered man and McCoy wasn't exactly operating at full speed himself. If he had to carry Jim he would, but it would be far easier to let Spock do the job. McCoy could kick Kodos all the way down the hill to the edge of the cliff…

"I had considered that possibility." Spock agreed, as if only mildly troubled by the fact.

"Spock," Jim said, his voice raw and soft, but still somehow commanding. McCoy was impressed. "Put him down."

"Why?" Spock queried, sounding exactly like Joanna when McCoy told her to do something she didn't want to.

"Because this isn't you. Don't let him turn you into something you are not." Jim tried to be the voice of reason, and that drove McCoy mad. He hated, _hated_ the way Jim would defend people who had caused him harm, especially when he was so quick to enrage when the shoe was on the other foot.

Spock shared his feelings. "I assure you, Jim, I am in no such danger. This pitiful excuse for a man gravely harmed one I hold most dear. It is logical I discourage him from attempting to inflict further harm, and it is the Vulcan way to extract repayment for wrongs done. Since neither of us desire financial recoupment from a source that is most likely illegal as well as immoral, I felt this would be a suitable alternative."

Kodos choked and clawed at the hand so calmly wrapped around his throat.

McCoy had repaired damage Spock had inflicted on Jim in a similar way and he knew exactly how strong those deceptively elegant hands were. "You know Spock, it's times like this I think I could almost like you."

"The feeling is entirely mutual, Doctor."

It was clear Jim had no idea how to deal with someone wanting to inflict violence and pain on his behalf. McCoy tightened his hold protectively. He would learn. In the meantime, McCoy continued to smile at Kodos who had rapidly begun to turn pink and his lips blue.

"Not nice, is it? Not being able to breathe." It was terrifying, actually, and he knew that because he remembered Jim's fear as he'd been intubated. McCoy was going to have a hell of a time keeping him in sickbay now when it was necessary, both from the trauma Jim had experienced, and his own guilt at having to be the one who made him relive it. "Bet you'd like him to let you go?"

Kodos choked. "J-ja-mes." Spock dropped him like a rag doll, flipped him on to his back and closed his hand around Kodos' jaw, mindless of the way he choked and hacked as he sucked in air.

"You will not speak to him." Spock warned, tightening his grip until Kodos's mouth was forced to open. "You will not look at him. You will not think of him. For I will rip out your tongue, pluck out your eyes, and lock your mind in a hell of your own creation." Spock released him carelessly before raising his eyes to Jim. "His life is yours." Spock said gently. "Should you wish to see it ended, we will do so now. His body will not be found."

McCoy didn't need to look at Jim to know his tormented expression. The part of him that was still that angry boy wished for nothing but Kodos' blood, but it was not that boy Kodos had hurt. _That_ boy had come later.

No, the boy Jim was in that moment was the scared, lonely child who so desperately wanted to be loved and had for a short while believed that Kodos could grant that wish. Jim had hacked away at that part of himself in order to find the strength and the courage to resist, but given the support he'd always been denied, he was stepping out once more, bloody and wounded, but _good_. He shook his head. "No." he whispered, then shook his head and spoke with a stronger voice. "No. He should stand trial. His victims deserve justice. I won't take that from them for selfish revenge."

"You, Jim Kirk," McCoy said gruffly, touching Jim's forehead with his own, "are a better man than I'd ever be."

"No," Jim whispered, "But I am a better man with you. Both of you."

"Is that what you believe?" Kodos rasped. "They don't know you like I do, James. Do you think they would be so quick to stand by you if they knew what you really were? You'll do what you always so, James, you'll make them hurt you. I'm the only person what understands you."

Jim flinched in McCoy's arms but his eyes were no longer clouded by fear. Something had changed, something fundamental about Jim had shifted, and while McCoy would not trade a single thing about him, he couldn't help but be glad. This was….good.

Physically, Jim was more fragile than McCoy had ever known him to be. Emotionally, he was wounded still, _so deeply_. But there was something there in his eyes, something McCoy felt that he'd never once experienced in Jim's memories. The jut of his chin was familiar in his defiance, but there was no goading desperation in his eyes, no little boy trying to mask his fear behind anger and cockiness. This wasn't the cadet who had pulled off the impossible with Nero, it wasn't the Captain who had sacrificed his life battling Marcus and Khan. _This_ man, McCoy knew, would never be forgotten by history. This man would change the whole universe and everyone in it.

This man was everything Jim Kirk had always had the potential to be, now standing on a solid, unshakable ground built on the one unchangeable fact: he was no longer, and would never again be, _alone_.

McCoy waited to hear what he would say, knowing Jim's eloquence and emotion, ready to hold him steady and support him as he delivered his soliloquy.

But Jim, proving once and for all to be the most unpredictable of men, looked down at Kodos without the veil of fear or the confusion of misplaced devotion. Tilting his head to one side in an expression that was uncomfortably Spock like, Jim very calmly gave voice to his thoughts. There as no anger in his words, and no hate. Just cold, unmovable conviction.

"Fuck you." He said, delighting McCoy into another wide grin.

"Couldn't have put it better myself." He squeezed Jim in encouragement.

"I think you'd have thrown a 'damnit' in there somewhere." Jim said absently before turning to his First. "Spock, I want to go home. Either cuff this piece of shit or break his legs, I don't care, but I want out of here."

"I vote legs." McCoy said vindictively. "I'll happily set 'em for you later." He promised Kodos, who had developed another unfortunate case of a Vulcan at his throat as Spock once more hauled him upright and dragged him down the hallway, mindless of his impotent kicking.

"I trust you can assist Jim on your own, Doctor." Spock said loftily, as if he didn't have a fully-grown man clutched in the one hand.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Yeah yeah, goddamn Vulcans." He twisted his grip on Jim so he had one arm around the kid's back. "Come on Jimmy." He said, grinning at the seriously unimpressed look on Jim's face. "I promise I won't drop you."

"I can walk!" Jim protested, batting at McCoy's shoulder. "Bones, don't you dare!"

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" McCoy sniggered, feeling so much lighter somehow with the return of Jim's spark of life. "Stop wriggling or I _will_ drop you."

"I'm pretty sure there are regs against this. Lots of regs! Spock, damnit Spock!" Jim could squirm and complain all he liked, but right then McCoy was stronger. Besides, Jim got up to all sorts of crazy escapades when he was allowed to wander around on his own two feet. McCoy wasn't kidding when he said Jim would be having an escort for the rest of forever.

As they made their way down the corridor, McCoy could still see the look of rage on Kodos's face as Spock dragged him. McCoy couldn't help but meet it with a sneer of his own.

_Look_, he thought, _look at us_. _You can't have him, and you'll never be able to break him. Not while we're here._

Which was, of course, the same time the windows exploded and a dozen figures dressed in black flooded the hallway, phasers armed and pointed at the four of them.

Jim's bad luck was apparently contagious.


	37. Chapter 37

That last cliffie was a doozie, wasn't it? I'd say I'm sorry but we'd all know I'm lying. It's not like I make you wait long for the next chapter! I only cliffie so hard because your next hit is 24 hours away. Even TV isn't that nice! (so enough with the tribbles already!)

Speaking of TV, I hope by now you're on the same page as I am! While I loved the movies, TOS will always be my favorite, and I found myself agreeing with nu!Scotty when he said Starfleet was acting like the military. The TOS bromance and adventures were my favorite things, and I wanted to find a way of moving nu!crew into that setting. Since the world of reboot land is much grittier, and the political climate much darker, I needed to make certain things happen in order to get them there. This was part of it. Jim, thou shalt face thy demons and set Spock on them!

Only a couple more parts to go, and no evil cliffie this time. Lots of swearing though: you have two Kirks and Jim's in one of _those_ moods. Wonder who we can blame for that…

(Oh, and to answer the question that came up in a review, no, I am not Scottish. Or English, for that matter!)

* * *

Jim's body might not have been working as well as he'd have liked it to, but while his physical reactions were dull and slow, his mental reflexes were not. He dug his thumb into the pressure point in the ball of McCoy's shoulder _hard_.

Bones dropped him instinctively, and Jim dragged him down as he went, just in time for the both of them to avoid getting their heads blasted off.

"What the hell?" McCoy yelled loudly in Jim's ear, his chest pressuring heavily against Jim's.

Jim ignored him, his eyes on Spock, who had also ducked for cover, dragging Kodos with him.

Their position was impossible to defend, with no cover and nothing to use offensively.

If Jim had been by himself, physically capable or not, he'd have gone outfighting anyway, but under no circumstances would he risk Bones or Spock being hurt.

He shoved McCoy aside, adrenaline powering muscles that hadn't worked in far too long, and rolled flat, ready to hoist himself to his knees and call out a surrender.

But then a voice cut through the chaos. The very last voice he'd ever expected to hear. "Cease fire! Cease fire! Are you dipshits fucking insane?!"

"Sam?" Jim yelled, his voice horribly loud as the shooting came to an abrupt halt.

Sure enough, Jim's elder brother propelled himself out into the corridor, placing his body between Jim and the armed men. "What the ever loving fuck are you doing here?" Jim demanded. Sam was literally the last person Jim wanted to see. His brother had an uncanny ability to take a fucked up situation and make it ten times worse.

"Jim!" Sam looked delighted to see him. "You're okay! You are okay, right? Is he okay?" He asked the last part to McCoy, who had clambered to his knees, arms once again wrapping themselves around Jim's back and shoulders. Jim couldn't have shrugged him off even if he'd wanted to.

"He'd be fine," Bones said testily, "if people stopped shooting at him. Where the hell is Sulu?"

"Sulu's here?" Jim asked.

"Everyone is here, Jimmy. It's like a family outing but with more explosives." McCoy said with a hint of irony, now knowing full well how many of Jim's family outings actually _had_ involved explosives.

"That was you guys I heard?" Jim asked, thinking of the explosion that had dimly filtered through his fugue like state.

Bones grinned at him. "That would have been Scotty, four pounds of sonic adhesive and the gates of Edinburgh Castle."

Jim was fairly certain his expression was utterly ridiculous, but then the whole situation wasn't much better. Mustering some semblance of control, he turned to glare at Sam. "Where the hell is my navigator?"

"Being a terrifying badass somewhere else, I imagine." Sam shrugged. "Does the Enterprise have some kind of selection criteria when it comes to ninja like awesomeness?"

Jim felt a swell of pride at the words, because hell yes, Sulu was awesome. It did, however, bring them back to the initial problem because:

"Who the hell are they?" He demanded, indicating the armed men who seemed perfectly content to just hang around after such a dramatic entrance.

"Insurance." Sam said. "Just in case."

"In case what?" Bones growled. "We found Jim and Spock was doing perfectly well at beating on Kodos without armed assistance."

"I can see that." Sam said. "They might have gotten a little over excited. Sorry."

"Sorry? Are you kidding-"

"Bones," Jim soothed his friend, knowing that once McCoy started on a rant there would be no stopping him. Amusing as they always where when Jim wasn't the subject or the target, they had more important things to concern themselves with. Namely Kodos. He looked at the men with assessing eyes, then back up to Sam. "You know, I'm getting really fucking sick and tired of Section 31 fucking things up."

McCoy looked at him and frowned. "They're 31?"

Jim nodded. "Come on Bones, they're practically wearing signs saying _shifty covert operatives_. Figures you'd bring them into this." He said to Sam. "You assholes all deserve one another."

"Technically I'm retired." Sam protested.

"_Technically_ you're psychotic, but that seems to be an enlistment requirement."

"You're upset." Sam looked dismayed.

"No shit." Jim snapped. "Why the hell are you even here? To kill Kodos? I mean, that's your life's goddamn mission, isn't it? Your little obsession?"

"Jim-"

"No. Fuck you. Fuck all of you. Not you," He said to McCoy who steadied him as he climbed to his feet, "though don't think I'm letting you carry me again, asshole." Jim didn't miss the way Bones' lips twitched at the edge. Bastard. "You want to kill him? Then you're going to have to kill me first because I'm the one who has had to live with the deranged fuck, not you, and I say he gets a trial, gets a fucking lawyer and then spends the rest of for-fucking-ever behind bars."

"That's a lot of 'fucks', Jimmy." Bones said, looking far too amused at Jim's rant. Sam really did know how to push his buttons to rage, but he supposed it was better than the miserable state he'd been in.

"Shut up, Bones." Jim growled. He might speak a dozen languages and understand a few more, but goddamnit, _fuck_ was a really satisfying word to use, especially when he was in the kind of mood he was right then.

"That's not-" Sam started to protest, cut off when Jim didn't turn around and barked:

"Don't you fucking dare." They all turned to look at Kodos, who had taken advantage of the commotion and Spock's distraction to try and crawl away. He didn't get very far. Even before Jim had spoken up, Spock was hauling him back into place. Jim had been on the receiving end of that Vulcan strength and knew exactly what kind of power Spock was capable of, but he was still stunned to see it being so casually used. Normally his XO was painfully cautious with the humans around him. After that incident on the bridge, he had only ever touched Jim with the utmost gentleness, even when angry or scared.

"Now tell your goon squad to stand the fuck down." Jim demanded. "Tell me where the rest of my crew is and lets get the hell out of here before we have to explain why Scotty just blew the doors of a castle. And seriously, who the _hell_ houses his evil lair in the middle of a medieval fucking castle?"

"Oh kid, you have no idea how much I missed you." Bones said, squeezing his arm.

"Perhaps it is time we put Mr Chekov to use?" Spock suggested, as always the voice of calm when Jim wanted to destroy something and McCoy encouraged him. Spock touched the comm and gave the order.

"Wait, Christine Chapel…" Jim explained, suddenly panicking and hating himself for not thinking of her sooner. "She's here, she helped me, we have to-"

"We got her, Jim. It's okay." McCoy soothed.

"Mr Sulu, are the shields down?" Spock asked.

"_Yeah. Just. I might have lost Kirk, though."_

"No shit." Jim muttered, giving his brother a dirty look.

"We have located him. Mr Chekov, initiate transportation."

"What about my team?" Sam asked as they were caught in the transporter's beams.

Jim felt his atoms dissolving and let out a breath of tension. He was going home.

"Fuck 'em." He said irritably. They had Kodos in custody, and he was going home. He'd deal with the rest later.

* * *

McCoy had to tighten his grip as they materialized in a lush, warm room filled with exotic plant life. His knees buckled and he grabbed at Bones's arm as several voices called his name in delight.

The first to reach him was Uhura. "I'm going to hug you now." She told him firmly, her eyes bright with tears. "You've got two seconds to say no."

Jim gawped at her and a moment later Bones had to balance her weight as well as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she clutched him tightly.

It opened the floodgates for warm hugs and tears of relief, even from Scotty and Sulu, who weren't exactly the hugging type.

Jim's anger was stripped away, leaving him hopelessly bare to the tears that pricked his eyes as one after another, the people he loved most in the universe welcomed him back with warmth, relief and joy. "God, I missed you guys." He said genuinely.

"Ve missed you too, Keptain!" Chekov said, his wide grin almost splitting his face.

"A little." Sulu smirked.

"I didn't." Scotty huffed. "Crazy wee bastard."

Jim choked on a laugh, his eyes stinging. "Thank you." He said. "For finding me."

"Yeah well, next time we're putting a bell on you." Uhura smiled hugely, one of her big, real smiles that lit up the room. "Don't worry, we'll get you a pretty one."

"Why do I get the feeling I owe you more shoes?" Jim grinned at her.

"You _always_ owe me more shoes. Consider it insurance against future acts of stupidity."

Jim could have just stayed there and soaked in the warmth and happiness around him. Give him a hug from Jo, and he'd have had everything he'd ever wanted right in the room with him.

But one person hadn't joined in the reunion. While Bones had snuck off to check on Christine, and the rest of Jim's crew had swarmed him, one person stood out in his absence.

Kevin hadn't stepped forwards. He, out of all of them, was the most physically demonstrative with Jim. They'd known each other so long and Jim had always been able to comfort him with a hug and vice versa.

But nothing.

Jim gently tried to wriggle his way through his crew, trying to spot Kevin in the room.

He saw Spock, his eyes dark with affection as he watched them, and Kodos, barely conscious on the ground behind him, nowhere to run to and no hope of escape.

And then he saw Kevin.

Jim shoved his way past Scotty and stumbled into Sulu, who instantly tried to steady him. "Kevin, no!" He shouted, stalling their conversation with his cry of horror.

But though Kevin heard him, he didn't stop. He walked right up to Kodos, hauled him up by the shirt, and though Spock had spun around at Jim's call, there was no stopping Kevin from slitting Kodos's throat from ear to ear.

Spock reached him a moment later, hauling him away and disarming him gently.

McCoy reached Kodos a moment later, the doctor in him responding to the crisis when the man in him would perhaps not have cared.

But the cut was deep, almost down to the spinal column. There was no saving him.

"I'm sorry Jimmy." Kevin said quietly, his young face blank and drained of all color. "But the dead don't care about justice."

For a second, Jim was back on Tarsus and seeing little Kevin Riley for the very first time. Scared and sobbing, clinging to his mother, mindless of the blood that had been spilled down her chest, her blank face white and her dark eyes empty as they stared up at the sky.

It was a look Kodos wore as he died, mindless of McCoy's attempts to slow the bleeding.

Jim's knees buckled and he was being grabbed by several sets of supporting hands.

Transfixed by the blood that flowed in rivers across the floor, Jim felt lightheaded and dizzy.

But really, he thought, how could he ever have expected this to end any other way?


	38. Chapter 38

Poor Kevin, right? :( I know, I know, I'm a bad person. And apparently the last chapter DID end of a cliffie. Oops. It's not like anyone died! Other than Kodos. Does anyone care about Kodos?! Shame on me and whatnot.

Anyway, we made it! FINAL PART! Thank you all so much for coming on this long-ass adventure with me! Your encouragement and threats have been an utter delight to behold, and I'm astonished by your support, so thank you!

As always, plot points will carry over into the next story as themes continue to be dealt with. This part just rounds up the emotional arc of this journey and seemed the best place to end. Cy will be back, Sam is still around (though he might be taking a field trip to Iowa...), and there's the not so small issue of Section 31. There will also be a few little one shots popping up in the next week – Jim addressing the press, and our favorite triumvirate dealing with the aftereffect of the meld. For that reason though, I'm going to post the next arc of the story before I post the Academy fic. I'm going to be absent mid October for a few weeks, so I figured it would be less evil to do it this way around :p yes, LESS evil. Now for the love of god, please remove the tribbles from my yard, they are confusing my puppy!

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Twelve hours after retrieving Jim from Kodos's clutches, twelve hours after Kevin Riley had slit the maniac's throat, they were piled into Archer's office, dressed in full greys, ramrod straight and waiting for the man to pass judgement.

Jim, Spock and McCoy were sat at the chairs in front of Archer's desk, Jim out of necessity and the other two out of solidarity. Nyota, Sulu and Scotty stood at attention behind them. "After bringing Kodos into custody, he _tripped_ and slit his own throat?"

"That's correct, sir." Jim said calmly, his expression absolutely impenetrable.

"You're kidding, right?" Archer growled. "Some of the brightest minds Starfleet has on offer are at your disposal and 'he tripped' is the best bullshit excuse you can some up with?"

"It's the truth, sir." Jim continued expressionlessly. "No bullshit involved."

"There's always bullshit when you're involved." Archer said darkly. "Alright, I'll play ball. He tripped. How the hell do you expect me to explain that one?"

"Clumsiness and an unfortunately placed set of pruning sheers?"

"Kirk!"

"What exactly would you like me to say here, Admiral?" Jim asked, genuinely interested, the dark amusement of the whole scenario fading behind the reality. "Because that's the only answer I'm giving you."

Archer rubbed his eyes tiredly. "You know I'm starting to feel remorse for all the times I chewed Pike out because of one of your stunts." He muttered.

"I can take full responsibility for my own actions, sir." Jim said. Nyota ached for him, but her admiration was almost impossible to contain. While they had all been left stunned by Riley's actions, Jim had taken control instantly. He'd ordered McCoy to take Riley into a separate room then called Archer himself.

When SFPD. JAG and Interpol arrived – half the world had been looking for Jim and he had his own special task force, for all the good they had done – Jim had practically convinced them that the sky was green before Kodos's body had cooled. They'd taken one look at Jim, his frail, haunted features and in their own minds imposed the images still being shopped around by the media. Like Archer, they hadn't believed his excuse, and like Archer, they believed Jim had killed Kodos out of either trauma or self-defense. No one even knew who Kevin Riley was, let alone what Kodos had ordered done to his family.

There was no precedent for dealing with the kind of situation Jim had presented them and hadn't been in several hundred years. The only thing that could decide was that this was, and remained, a Starfleet matter.

Which was how they ended up in front of Archer, polished and pressed and waiting for the hammer to fall.

"That's never been your problem, Kirk." Archer grunted. "I am going to have to investigate this, you know that."

"And I trust you'll put your best on it, sir." Jim nodded, completely at ease with the cover up he was spinning. In fairness, there wasn't a single person who knew the truth who would ever admit to it. Kevin Riley was safe, protected by Jim Kirk just like when they were children.

And Jim was, for once, protected by his own name. Even if he did put his hand up and say 'I did it, arrest me', there wasn't a judge on Earth who would convict him for it. Not after what Kodos had done to him.

"Of course." Archer said darkly. "And what about you, Kirk?" There wasn't a hint of concern or sympathy in his voice, but Nyota remembered how quickly he'd jumped to Jim's defense with the media, and how hard he had fought to get Jim back. She didn't think the two of them would ever like one another, but no one could deny they respected one another.

"I've been better, sir, but I'm on the mend."

"I see." Archer looked him up and down. "You look worse than you did the last time I saw you."

"About that," Jim said evenly, moving smoothly on to the next item on his agenda. "You're giving me back my ship." They all waited with baited breath, believing that Jim can do the impossible but still reeling from one too many hits to be entirely without tension.

"Oh," Archer said, matching Jim tone for tone, "I am, am I?"

"You are." Jim said pleasantly.

"And what happened to our agreement?" Archer asked.

"Your threat, you mean?" Jim's voice remained pleasant. "It still stands. Doctor McCoy will be meeting with me once a week and he'll forward you the recordings."

"Doctor McCoy is hardly an impartial third party, Kirk."

"He's also the only medical professional I will _ever_ consider talking to, so I'd take it." Jim's voice was slowly staring to sound less cordial. "I don't eat and I don't sleep. I'm paranoid and have issues with authority. I have no formal education and a criminal record. A spy, a pirate and a psychopath raised me and in any other situation I'd be the last person you'd want commanding your flagship."

"In any other situation." Archer sighed.

"You said it yourself, sir. I belong to Starfleet. You made me what I am, and you're going to put me where I'll do the most good."

"And that's on the _Enterprise_ I suppose." Archer asked, his eyes narrowed. Nyota could see the tension in both Spock and Leonard's shoulders, but Jim was eerily calm.

Jim nodded. "It is."

"And if I say no? What brilliant piece of blackmail are you planning on using this time? Even you've got to be running short by now." Archer looked over Jim's shoulder to Scotty, who managed not to twitch.

Jim didn't even bother trying to deny it. He leaned back in the chair, his poise so achingly familiar in it's casual arrogance. "Kodos's real name was Robert April, and he _really_ liked the sound of his own voice."

If she hadn't seen it with her own eyes, Nyota would never have believed Archer could look so suddenly sick. In one sentence, Jim had aged him twenty years. The name Robert April meant nothing to her, but it clearly did to Archer.

He swallowed. "She'll be ready for a shakedown in five months." He said flatly, resigned and outmaneuvered. "Make sure you are fit to board her. No cheating your way this time."

Jim stood up and snapped to attention, clearly not about to push his luck. "Thank you sir." Spock and McCoy followed and the six of them saluted.

They had their Captain and their ship back. As they left Archer's office, Nyota felt the sigh of relief flow through them all. They could go home.

* * *

Chekov and Riley were waiting for them back at the Embassy. Though clearly dead on his feet, Jim walked straight up to Riley, who was pale and shaky, his eyes filled with tears he had not shed when slitting Kodos's throat, but that hadn't stopped since.

"It's alright." Jim told him. "I took care of it. It's alright." He opened his arms and Kevin folded himself into the embrace, sobbing against Jim's shoulder.

Nyota just heard his whispered apologies and the gentle reassurances Jim whispered back.

Despite her professional feelings on the matter, she couldn't be sad that Kodos was dead. He'd done too much harm to deserve that. She'd marveled at Jim's resolute decision that he should face trial, if only because she knew he could have hacked Kodos to pieces and they'd have lied about it to protect him. He could have had his revenge, but chose the higher path.

But should could not blame Riley for choosing blood first. If it had been her mother she'd watched being murdered, no force in the universe would have stayed her hand, nor the hands of any of them others in the room with her. Of them all, Jim was the only one who had proved he could be the better man. Allowing Khan to live after what he did to Pike must have cost him part of his soul, but he'd done it. Even Spock had not shown such restraint. If it hadn't been to save Jim's life, not even she could have stopped him from murder.

Instead she felt only sorrow for the two men who clutched each other so tightly. They were still so young, but they had suffered so much.

"He's gone." Jim whispered to Riley. "He can't hurt anyone else." The words sounded so calm and certain when Jim spoke them, but she alone stood close enough to them to see into his eyes. Kodos might be dead, but she had a feeling he'd be hurting Jim for the rest of Jim's life.

Jim always had been able to lie so prettily.

* * *

Nyota was quietly playing solitaire on her PADD when the suite door opened and McCoy entered, Joanna at his side. She'd always been a serious little thing, but she clung quietly to McCoy's arm, head down and shy in a way she hadn't been before Cerberus. Nyota's heart ached for her. She was such a sweet child, and she'd not deserved any of her pain. And of course, Jim's abduction had hit her hard. McCoy had done his best to shield her from the reality they had all faced, but after a week of no contract from Jim, Joanna had started to think her favourite uncle had turned his back on her. In the end the truth, though painful, had been less damaging.

Now that Jim was safely back, McCoy wasted no time in bringing Joanna to him.

Nyota smiled at Jo from where she sat, and though the little girl returned the gesture shyly, her eyes were only for Jim.

He and McCoy had argued for a good twenty minutes after returning from Command. McCoy wanted him to get some sleep. Jim complained that he'd done nothing but lay on his back for the best part of a month and he wasn't tired. They all read the truth of his words – Jim was exhausted and anyone could see as much – that he was afraid to sleep as opposed to unwilling. In the end they had compromised. McCoy gave Jim a light sedative, just enough to help the process, and Jim took over the couch, surrounded by the rest of them should his sleep become troubled.

He had stubbornly tried to catch up on everything he had missed in the three weeks he was with Kodos, but had eventually fallen asleep with his head on the arm of the couch. Nyota had tucked a blanket over him and he'd barely stirred, a clear sign of how drained he really was.

So the rest of them had stayed close by, Riley sat with his shoulder against Chekov's, the two youngest members of their group huddled together as Chekov tried to show his support.

They all looked up as Joanna made her way over to Jim, cautiously stopping at the edge of the couch.

Blearily, Jim cracked open his eyes and a slow, sleepy smile spread over his face. He lifted the edge of the blanket and Jo was crawling on to the couch in an instant, burying her face in Jim's chest and crying her heart out.

Jim tucked the blanket around them both, then encircled her with his arms, his hands moving carefully through her loose hair.

As they two of them curled up on the large couch, Nyota shared a smile with McCoy, who made his way over to Riley and spoke to him in a low, gentle voice. He, like Jim, had a way to go before he could heal. Like Jim, Nyota had no doubt that he would find his way.

Their family was back together again, whole and safe. They might be a little bit fractured, a little bit battered around the edges, but they'd survived.

She felt Spock sit down beside her and pushed aside her game in favor of resting her head on his shoulder. They'd never needed many words to understand one another, and she could feel his relief and contentment. Neither of them was under any illusions that life would be easy now, but even the laofest if obstacles felt manageable when they were all together.

The room fell quiet again as each small group continued with their own thing, and an hour passed easily by.

Then, startling them all with its unexpectedness, they heard Joanna giggle. "Uncle Jim," Joanna had her father's rich accent and the devastatingly effective whine of a seven year old – poor Jim had no hope. "I know you're awake."

Jim's smile was small, but utterly blinding. "Am not," he whispered, "totally sleeping."


End file.
